What Makes a King - Two Thrones Part I
by BeulahMae
Summary: Bard has no idea how to be a King, but he loves his children and his people, and knows how to show it. Thranduil has been a ruler for millennia, but terrible loss and trauma has kept him from showing love towards his son and kindness towards his people. Together, they give one another lessons in life, love and "Kinging." Post-BOTFA. I do not own characters by Tolkien.
1. Chapter 1

11

 **Chapter One**

 _Still I'm pinned under the weight  
Of what I believed would keep me safe.  
So show me where my armor ends,  
Show me where my skin begins.  
Like a final puzzle piece  
It all makes perfect sense to me…  
The heaviness that I hold in my heart belongs to gravity.  
The heaviness that I hold in my heart's been crushing me._

Lyrics from " **Pluto** " by **Sleeping at Last**

The dark passages of Ravenhill were littered everywhere with bodies of slain Orcs. Thranduil was desperate to find his son, his fear increasing as he looked down at all this death. With each step he took, anxiety grew in his chest. His heart began to pound, and thoughts raced through his mind with increasing speed.

 _Where is he…Varda, please let him be alive… No no no... Please, do not take my son-_

He heard a step. His eyes looked up from the ground, and there he was. Thranduil's knees nearly buckled from relief. Legolas wasn't injured, and his face showed anguish and disappointment, but he was alive. Alive! When their eyes met, it was all he could do to keep from crying out from relief. Something welled in his chest that had not been there for countless years; emotions this strong were unfamiliar to him now.

He stood still and gazed upon Legolas, unable to keep the relief from his face, unable to say the words that were pushing to get out.

"I cannot go back," Legolas told his father, his gaze lowered, blue eyes full of sad resignation.

Thranduil had no valid argument to this. He knew his son had developed feelings for Tauriel, though he'd tried to prevent this, in his own, inept, way. He could only guess what it must be like, to watch her cradle the body of the Dwarf she loved.

Thranduil didn't want to lose his son, but His heart told him it was too late. Anything that he could say now to his son, would fall upon deaf ears, and be regarded with suspicion. The distance between them had only grown wider, over the centuries since his wife's death. Legolas hardly regarded Thranduil as a father anymore, after too many years with no affection expressed between them. Legolas had always shown respect and deference to him as his King, but even that had vanished, since the Dwarves had been captured in the Woodland Realm.

Legolas looked away from his father's face and started to walk past him.

"Where will you go?" Thranduil asked.

"I do not know."

My son is leaving... Help me do something…help...

Thranduil had a sudden inspiration. "Go North," he suggested to Legolas, "Find the Dúnedain. There is a young Ranger amongst them. You should meet him."

Legolas looked back to him, curious.

"His father, Arathorn, was a good man, his son might grow to be a great one," said Thranduil.

"What is his name?"

"He is known in the wild as Strider. His true name, you must discover for yourself."

Legolas gave the slightest of nods, and turned to walk away, head down. The sorrow in his son's heart was palpable. This could have been prevented, had if only had he done things differently.

Thranduil's heart and thoughts raced. I could order him to stay as his King, but…I cannot. I need to say something… Say something to him! Now! Do it!

"Legolas?" Thranduil called after his son, a hint of pleading in his voice.

The son stopped, but did not turn to face his father. Thranduil quickly searched himself for words to ease his son's broken heart. Words that could offer him comfort; words that Legolas could hold on to, as he walked away from the life he knew.

"Your mother loved you," he said, softly. "More than anyone. More than life."

Legolas stood very still, absorbing those words. Turning slightly, he lowered his head, put his hand to his heart, then brought it from his chest and extended it toward his father, not meeting his eyes. Thranduil returned the salute, head bowed.

A sigh was heard, then fading footsteps, to be replaced by the sound of the winter wind. Legolas Thranduillion, Prince of the Woodland Realm, was gone; possibly forever. The Elvenking, so reputed to have a heart of pure ice, closed his eyes and lowered his head once again, trying to hold back the tears that wanted to escape.

He took several deep breaths, and once he felt calmer, the sound of weeping reached his ears. Tauriel's heart was breaking, and he knew he needed to go to her. She had accused him of not being capable of love, and to his shame, he'd hardly given her reason to think otherwise. Nonetheless, she needed someone now. Perhaps the Valar had arranged for that person to be him; he sensed he was at a crossroads, and things in his life, which had been stagnant for centuries, were about to shift, and change in ways he couldn't understand now.

He continued through the corridor, following the sounds of weeping, and came out onto the ledge to the mournful scene before him. Tauriel was kneeling beside the Dwarf she had grown to love, tears flowing freely down her cheeks.

"They want to bury him," Tauriel said.

"Yes."

"If this is love, I do not want it." Her eyes closed with utter anguish. "Take it from me, please!"

He had no answer that would help her. As much as he wanted to ease her suffering, it wasn't possible. If he'd had that power, he could have saved himself centuries of agony at the loss of his wife. But as soon as that thought occurred to him, he knew he'd never want that for himself — it would mean losing the love he still had for her. And he also knew that Tauriel would not want to lose all memory of her love for Kili, either.

"Why does it hurt so much?" Tauriel sobbed, grasping at her chest, as if she was trying to pull her heart out of herself, taking the agony with it.

Thranduil gave her an honest reply, "Because…it was real." And he could see that it was. There were no words of comfort he could give, no magic that would ease this kind of suffering.

It was unlikely she would fade from mourning; she and Kili had never been joined in marriage – they had never even had the chance to speak of their feelings. Still the pain of Rista-Goeol could affect her badly. Tauriel's strength, both physical, and mental, her character as the leader of his Guard made no difference in matters of sorrow. He had seen elves that he perceived to be much stronger, slowly fade or leave for the Grey Havens from the profundity of sorrow his race was capable of feeling.

He tried to keep his face composed while he considered the possibility of losing Tauriel, as well as his son. She had grown up next to Legolas, and had been in Thranduil's care since infancy, when her parents were murdered, like his wife, by Orcs. He knew he had not treated her as well has she deserved.

He knew it could have been so different…

He swallowed down his sentiment and watched the young Silvan, silently, intensely; his eyes stinging with regret and sorrow.

Tauriel, at Thranduil's recognition of her emotions, looked up at him for several moments and held his gaze. He felt her search his eyes for sincerity in his words, and he allowed it. After finding the assurance she needed, she gave a very small nod of her head.

She looked down at her Dwarf Prince, tears still flowing, but with a smile. She kissed Kili fondly, holding his gloved hand against her cheek, and seemed just a bit more prepared to bid her Dwarf goodbye. The look of determination on her face was not so hard to read: She was going to take what they felt for each other and use that memory as a reason to go on. For Kili. For what could have been. She will use her love as a source of strength, and live for him.

Thranduil watched the scene, wide-eyed with astonishment. How, he marveled, could this "lowly Silvan elf" as she had referred to herself just days ago (and he had let her, to his chagrin), have the strength to do, in a matter of hours, what he couldn't, even after hundreds of years! Not for the first time today, he was humbled.

Presently, a small detail of Dwarves appeared with a litter, ready to take the body of their fallen comrade, with much sadness and honor. Thranduil stepped aside, putting hand to heart and extending it, head bowed; showing respect for the dead Dwarf Prince, and for his companions. One of the Dwarves, the one with the hat - familiar with Tauriel, it would seem – offered, in a soft and kindly voice, to allow Tauriel to accompany the body to Erebor. She was astonished at the invitation, but the others nodded their agreement and approval, should she wish to go.

Tauriel looked up at her King, pleading in her eyes.

Thranduil nodded his assent, and with careful, loving hands, Kili's lifeless form was placed on the litter. As they were leaving, Tauriel looked at Thranduil.

"Thank you, my Lord." She put her hand to her heart and saluted him, then turned to find her place along the side of Kili, holding his hand. Weeping openly, the Dwarves slowly made their way through the corridors, and down from Ravenhill. For quite a while after they left the scene, their sobs could be heard.

Then there was silence, except for the wind.

Thranduil stood, frozen.

No. Not frozen.

Not anymore. No longer was he the cold, remote, unapproachable, Sindarin King of the Woodland Realm.

He had been humbled. No; he had been humiliated - and he'd deserved it.

Tauriel, Legolas, and even Mithrandir had forced him to search his heart, and clearly see, what he had allowed himself to become. It was a horrifying realization, to see how his lack of feeling had damaged himself, the people of his kingdom, and even the forest itself. Worst of all, his distant, icy demeanor had destroyed what was most precious to him: his own son! He'd pushed him away, and avoided the face that was so like his mother's. He had driven away his own son! He was mortified at what he had done.

This day was overwhelming, for many reasons.

~o0o~

Earlier, Thranduil navigated the streets of Dale, taking in the horrific sight of bodies covering the ground, including his beloved elk. He gazed upon the dead, unseeing eyes of his Elven army. When he came across a small pool of red blood, with swirls of the foul, black Orc-blood, he felt the ground underneath him shift.

Please, no... I cannot...

It was Dagorland all over again. It was the same sight of the ground carpeted in bodies and blood! Panic rose in his chest as the horror threatened to overtake him, to stop his heart from beating. He couldn't breathe. He had to stop all this death! He didn't just see the dead in Dale before him. He was seeing and hearing the cries of agony on that plain before Mordor; he was smelling the stench of blood and decay, just as before. He was there, and in the present, at the same time. His eyes widened as all he could think of was stopping this destruction.

He'd ordered Feren to blow the horn and withdraw from this madness. Then Tauriel appeared in his path, forcing his mind back to the present.

She'd been mistaken when she told him, at the point of an arrow, that he had no love in him; she couldn't have been more wrong. Yet, she was right to confront him with this, before he abandoned the good people of Dale and the Dwarves to their annihilation. There were shock waves, like a kick to the gut when Legolas had stepped up, weapon drawn, forcing the point of his sword away from Tauriel's throat. The look of contempt and anger in Legolas's, eyes at that moment had shaken him to his very core. Though that confrontation took place in front of Thranduil's troops, it was still the right thing to do, and he knew it, even then.

Remarkably, even though Legolas knew his hopes of a life with her would never come to pass, Thranduil watched as his son didn't hesitate to go with her to help save Kili. Legolas had strength his father had never recognized. Strength that Thranduil knew he himself, did not possess. This compassion and determination was a quality that he'd loved about his wife, Mírelen. This was yet another way that Legolas was so like his mother.

His Mírelen had lived on, in their son; she was still present, through her child, and he hadn't seen it. He'd been too full of grief and anguish, to look deeply enough. Yet, there it was before him, and he could no longer avoid it. And he realized, in that instant all he'd missed out on.

A voice was heard from Thranduil's right. "Those gems were not all that your wife left you, my friend. She left you a son! Tell me, which would she have you value more?" The sharp reprimand came from some nearby steps of Dale's ruins. Thranduil, still in shock, turned his head sharply towards Mithrandir.

The Wizard had known his wife, and enjoyed seeing her when he visited their Halls. He would bow low, kiss her hand, and shower her with flowery words about beauty and grace, which made her smile and laugh. She had very much liked the Grey Wanderer, and he adored her. When Mírelen had been killed, Mithrandir had come to the Palace for a while, to offer what comfort he could, but there was little that could help. He talked to Thranduil over many weeks, in hopes he could help the Elvenking cope with this tragedy. He was met with so much resistance, and loud, angry words, that Mithrandir, sadly, gave up, although he visited several times to keep an eye on him.

Mithrandir's reprimand was met with wide-eyed silence, as Thranduil realized the truth of his words. In the end, he said nothing; just stared at the Wizard intently. He deserved those words, and they both knew it. Thranduil searched the Wizard's deep blue eyes beneath those bushy, grey brows. He looked for the same recrimination that had been in his son's eyes, but he found none.

There was anger and impatience, yes, but mostly, there was pity.

At the time, there was no chance to ponder what had just occurred. He quickly rescinded his command to withdraw, and ordered the Elves to redouble their efforts. They came to the aid of Dale and its people, and helped the Dwarves fight the Orcs, and helped to win the day.

Thank the Valar, the Eagles came just in time to head off most of the second Orc army that had been sent from Gundabad; grasping dozens of the foul creatures into their clutches and dropping them from high above, or dashing them against the rocks and cliffs; over and over. Radagast was astride the Lord of the Eagles, and Thranduil had seen Beorn, the skin-changer, in his bear form. No Orc was a match for that ferocious creature. The tide had turned, then slowed down, then came to a stop. The Battle of the Five Armies, as it was later named, was finally, finally over.

~o0o~

Now, standing alone above the field of battle, he saw the remnants of the Orcs routed and destroyed. The combined efforts of Elves, Men and Dwarves, had fought off the forces of Sauron and the Free People of the North had prevailed. This time.

In the silence here, upon Ravenhill, thoughts he'd pushed to the back of his mind, surged forward. His thoughts raced, memories of his words and deeds swirled into a dervish in his mind.

Thranduil's breath started to come in short gasps. Overcome, he viciously ripped off his gloves and threw them over the side of the cliff. With trembling hands, he undid the clasps of his breastplate, and tore it from him, as if it were burning his flesh. He frantically tore at the many pieces of his armor, removing them with desperate hands and tossing them aside with a roar of anger and anguish.

The mighty, King of the Woodland Realm, the only Elvenking on Middle Earth, and one of the world's greatest warriors, stumbled over to rest his forehead against the stone wall, panting. Eyes still closed, he turned and slowly slid down until he was sitting on the frozen ground. He pulled up his legs, wrapped his arms around his knees, dropped his head and wept.

He wept for his people, whom he had failed. He wept for all who died today, because his commands sent them to their deaths. He knew the names of every one of them. He knew the names of their fathers, mothers, and wives, husbands and children. He wept for them, because many would fade from grief. He wept for Tauriel's loss, and the sorrow he had caused her by dismissing what she felt, as insignificant. He wept at the loss of his beloved father, once again.

He wept for himself at losing his wife, Mírelen, who died protecting their son, covering his little body with her own; a shield between her child, and the sword of the Orc who had raised it, to strike a fatal blow. He wept for his wife, because she would still be alive, but he had failed her; he was seconds too late to save her. Thranduil wept and keened as he thought of the sacrifice she'd willingly made to save their son, only to have her husband treat that act of bravery with fear; hiding behind this fortress around his heart. He had disguised it as indifference and aloofness, and pulled away from everyone, making sure they kept their distance.

What had, at first, been a way of coping to keep from fading, was now a way of life. He wept for the lies he told himself; that he was forever changed, and this is the way he had to be now. He became so used to the lie, he had made it truth.

He wept because he knew he had robbed their son of his mother - first, by failing to save her, then, after her death, by banishing all reminders of her, even forbidding the mention of her name. Most of all, he wept in despair over the loss of his son; made worse because he yet lived, but turned away thinking himself unloved.

Thranduil felt his glamour fall, exposing the wound that would never heal. His face was now feeling the sharp needles of icy wind. Physical agony was added to his anguish. Good, he thought to himself. I deserve to feel pain, for all I caused in others.

He was all alone, because when one pushes love away often enough, it will turn around and leave, just as Legolas did. He was alone, and it was his own fault.

At that last thought, Thranduil lowered his head even further and wrapped his arms around his head, seeking shelter as his sobs overtook him more than he thought possible. A dam had burst; the floodgates had been opened. How to close them again, so he could be stoic and strong for his people? Thranduil had no idea. He was at a loss as to what to do next, and in this moment, he did no longer cared.

After what seemed an eternity, his sobs slowly subsided, and he gradually began to calm himself. Weary beyond words, he just sat for a time, trying to slow his gasps; breathing in and out, in and out. He was too exhausted to make sense of the tangle of emotions. It was too much, too much.

In and out, in and out, he breathed.

The cries of the Eagles filled the air, as they circled over the battle field, searching out what remained of the Orc army. He heard the ravens; cawing as they flew, no doubt carrying messages for the Dwarves. He heard the faint sounds of the Free Peoples below, as they began to sort through all that had happened today.

Mithrandir had been exactly right in his predictions; Thranduil should have listened, but he did not, and had influenced Bard into sharing his dismissal of the Wizard's warnings. He had failed Bard, who looked to him for help. Bard was straining to cope with all burdens forced upon him, and he'd relied on the Elvenking's judgement. And his judgment, like many other things, had been flawed. Thranduil's heart started to pound in his chest once again, and his breath quickened. In and out. Breathe slowly, in and out…

He thought of Bard; a simple bargeman with no military training, leading a desperate, suffering rabble of holocaust survivors into battle. The people of Laketown weren't prepared for the kind of fighting required of them. Yet, there they stood - within the masses of his own well-trained army, equally determined to fight for their cause. It would be easy to dismiss them as inferior, as naive fools, but Thranduil found he couldn't.

They had stood tall and proud, with their makeshift weapons, in rags instead of armor - one man had even fashioned a laundry basket into a shield. Several elves from his Army had done their best, to instill as much fighting skill in these men as possible. Bard's men, did their utmost to absorb what they could from their Elven comrades, with pride and courage to rival any of his soldiers. These were a hardy and resourceful people. Thranduil had little doubt they would survive, and make the most of this victory. With Bard as their leader, these folk would thrive and make Dale their home.

Bard... What to make of him? He'd met the man six years before; only one short meeting. Bard worked for him on the Forest River, recovering his empty barrels of and delivering new ones twice a week. Even then, he recognized the look, the bearing, and strength of his ancestor. This man was the direct descendant of Girion, the last King of Dale; he was sure of it. Thranduil had chosen, back then, not to speak of what he knew. It had seemed tactless, to remind the rightful heir to the throne of Dale, that he had no kingdom, that this noble line had been reduced to a poor fisherman and bargeman, struggling to keep his family fed and warm.

When Smaug had awoken from his slumber, reports had come in that night: Esgaroth, the town on the Long Lake, was in flames. The roar of the dragon could be heard for miles. Thranduil immediately gave the order to start gathering food and supplies for the survivors. Then, word came that Smaug was dead. He had been killed with a Black arrow. Instantly, Thranduil knew who had carried out the deed.

With the dragon dead, he had a chance to get his jewels back. Upon his arrival in the ruins of Dale with the supplies, Bard's face was the one he looked for among the survivors; he knew Bard would be the one in charge, to see his people to safety in the ruins after their town had been destroyed.

What Thranduil had seen back then, at their meeting on the river, and now, in the ruins of Dale, was a true leader. It could be said it was in his blood, but Thranduil had seen too many heirs fall far short of their bloodlines. Too many weak, greedy, men, whose only qualification was their birth, had risen to power, leaving disaster in their wake, such as Master of Laketown. Thankfully, that slippery, greasy, man was dead. Never again would Thranduil be subjected to that revolting man's simpering lies or his cloying, phony words. Good riddance to him, and that assistant of his.

He thought about the Dwarves. Once again, the Gold Sickness brought destruction upon themselves and a city of innocent people. He did hear that King Thorin somehow had overcome the curse which haunted his bloodline, and rallied himself along with the rest of his people; giving his life in the process. Whatever he may have thought of Thorin, there was no doubt he died with honor, defending his people. Thranduil would be a fool not to respect that.

On the ledge of Ravenhill, his thoughts kept turning to the Bowman. Thranduil couldn't help but be intrigued by the man. So much had been forced on Bard; yet he carried out this new responsibility without question, and worked tirelessly for his people. During the meetings with Bard in his tent, he'd insisted that Dale would only accept their fair share of Erebor's treasure, and no more. The Elvenking was astounded by this! Gold and power held no sway over this man, and governance exuded from him with each move he made, with every word out of his mouth. He was a calm, soft-spoken, but strong man, not afraid to fight for what he believed was right. There was no greed or thirst for power in him; just a deep love for his people.

When Thranduil searched those green-brown eyes, he saw no lie in them. He wasn't surprised when Bard searched his own eyes, for the same reason. Bard was not given to loyalty unless one earned it. Good. This would serve him well; it would make him an effective leader, and a just and fair King. It wasn't hard to see that Bard inherited all the best qualities of Girion, as well as his many ancestors before him.

The Elvenking had seen sadness in Bard's eyes, and, in turn, the Bowman recognized the sorrow in his own. Without effort, the Bowman could see beyond Thranduil's cold countenance, and know the truth of him. What to do with that? Right at this moment, Thranduil couldn't say, and he couldn't stop thinking about it. It should make him feel exposed and uncomfortable, but he didn't, and this was both frightening and intriguing.

Thranduil's thoughts turned to the Gems of Lasgalen. When Thrór first took possession of the Lonely Mountain, to re-establish Erebor, Thranduil had taken the broken pieces to the Dwarves, hoping to see it restored to its former glory. Once today's events settled a bit more, and all were ready to move forward, Thranduil stood a good chance of getting the necklace back; it was the key reason why he brought an army to the doorstep of Erebor. He had convinced himself that having those gems restored, would somehow ease the tragedy of losing her. What an utterly foolish notion, he thought wryly. Mithrandir's words had sliced that idea, to shreds, and rightly so.

His wife loved the necklace, but would have gladly cast away an entire mountain of gems, if it meant saving the ones she loved. Mírelen knew how to love; it flowed so naturally and freely from her. Her family, her people were her treasure. Thranduil and Legolas were the real gems of her life. No matter how beautiful or valuable that necklace was, it didn't have the power to ease a broken heart. No gem in Middle Earth could restore a broken life.

In these recent days, many things had come full circle. The Heir of Girion had finished the task that his ancestor had started. His Black Arrow, the last of its kind, hit the exact place where Girion's arrow had broken the scale on Smaug, and killed him. The Dragons of Middle Earth were no more. Dale will be rebuilt, and the Three Northern Kingdoms will, with much diplomacy on the Dwarves part, and even more patience and tolerance on Thranduil's part, become allies, like they used to be. This must happen; it was the only way the North will hold.

Mithrandir was, again, correct in his assessment that Sauron was hoping to weaken or even destroy the defenses of the Northern Realms. Thranduil's foresight told him that this will not be the only battle between these realms and Sauron's forces. The next great battle, possibly merely decades in the future, will be worse; it will be the Final War that will decide the fate of Middle Earth, once and for all. It was essential that these alliances take place, gain strength, and remain stable.

But those were thoughts for another day. As he calmed down, he concentrated, then felt his glamour return, to cover and protect his exposed face, and he felt the relief from pain. He closed his eyes, and leaned his head against the wall.

Just for a short while, Thranduil didn't want to think like a King. He didn't want to think at all. He wanted to stay here, for now, and just be Thranduil, the son, the father, the widower, an ordinary Elf, for Valar's sake! For a few more moments, he wanted to be, without all the noise, without distractions pulling at him from all directions-

"My Lord Thranduil?"

He opened his eyes and looked to his left, to see Feren, Commander of his Military forces, standing in the doorway, with concern in his eyes, but respect on his face.

"Are you injured, Sire? Do you need assistance, or a healer?" he asked.

"No, I do not. Take my armor to my tent for now. I will be there presently."

"As you wish, My Lord. I will have Galion lay out your supplies for you."

"That will be fine. Thank you Feren"

Feren picked up the pieces of armor. He knew his King preferred to clean and care for it personally, so this wasn't an unusual order. The Commander pointedly refused to notice Thranduil's swollen, red-rimmed eyes. Feren had known Thranduil since childhood, and had he fought beside his King for thousands of years, and remain steadfast and vigilant, ready to throw himself between Thranduil and danger, even at the cost of his own life. He loved this King, who was also his best friend, and he would protect his liege in every way possible. He clearly saw Thranduil needed solitude, so the Commander would make sure he was granted this.

With his arms full of armor, Feren looked over his shoulder. "Take all the time you need, Mellon nîn. I will see to it you are not disturbed."

After Feren's departure, the Elvenking closed his eyes again for several long moments; reveling in the quiet. He would not be blessed with such a lack of noise for the foreseeable future; there was so much to be done. He wanted to make the most of the silence while he still could.

An hour or so later, he sighed, and got to his feet, brushed the snow off his clothes, wiped his eyes and nose with the silken kerchief he always kept in his pocket. He rubbed snow into his face to soothe the sting around his eyes from his tears, and to wash off the remnants of anguish, plus dirt or blood that might be there.

He sighed once more, then reluctantly turned toward the doorways of Ravenhill, to make his way down to the ruins of Dale, where his tent, his army, his duty, awaited him.

The ordinary Thranduil was gone. It was time to be a King, again.

ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:

Rista-Goeol – "Terrible Severing" The pain from losing a bond-mate. If this happens after they are married, after their fëas become one, it can be a dangerous thing; the spouse will often need to sail, to keep from fading, or, if they stay, he or she will feel the hollow place forever.


	2. Chapter 2

Bard fights himself into sheer exhaustion for his family and for his people, but the Orcs just keep on coming. Are his children safe?

Here is another POV of the Battle of the Five Armies, and its gruesome aftermath. Even though the fighting is done, it will be a long, sad, struggle to get past the trauma of this day.

 **Chapter Two**

Bard fought on and on and on. He wouldn't stop until each of those cursed Orcs was dead. He knew his men were tired. He knew he himself, was on the brink of exhaustion. Yet, he couldn't allow himself to stop. He was their leader, and a true leader set the example, led his armies from the front, and wouldn't send others to dangers he wasn't willing to face himself.

And where, for all the Valar, had the Elves disappeared to, before re-entering the Battle?

After the Eagles came, bringing Radagast and Beorn with them, he knew they stood the chance of victory. He saw Beorn's creature devour the Orcs, breaking their bodies with a toss of its head, a swipe of its paw, chomping them with its mouth and spitting out the now-lifeless bodies with their foul taste. The Eagles had first dispatched with the Trolls, easily clutching them and throwing them against the side of the mountain, then scooping up the Orcs, several at a time, giving them the same, effective treatment.

Childhood legends were present at this Battle, and it seemed surreal to Bard that the stories he had heard were all true. If the circumstances weren't so dire, he would marvel at this. But he could spare no time. His city, his people, needed him to lead them to victory, or die in the attempt. He'd challenged his men to be willing to give their last, and not one hesitated to fight! He even saw women and older folk among the fighters. Didn't he give the order them to be locked in the Great Hall? Had the Hall fallen to the enemy? Oh, gods-his children were there!

Please, please let my children be safe. I can't lose them, I just can't… Please, Valar, by all that is sacred in this world, don't take them from me…

It occurred to Bard that every parent on the field was praying the same thing. He also knew not all would be answered.

At long last, the Battle slowed, and was over. The Elves, Dwarves, Eagles, and Beorn were scouring the valley for remnants of the Orc army. Bard finally wiped the blood off his sword, put it in its scabbard. He bent over, panting, as Percy, his second-in-command, made his way over to him.

"You're alive, Bard! Thank the Stars above!" Percy threw his arms around his friend. Their embrace lasted for several moments; using each other to lean on, to rest.

"Valar, it's good to see you, Percy! Are you injured?" He pulled back and looked the older man up and down earnestly.

"I seem to be in one piece; just a few nicks and scrapes. Have you seen that wife of mine? Last I knew, she was with the others in the Great Hall, then I spied that stubborn woman, yonder, fighting off those fucking Orcs! When I get my hands on her, I don't know whether to hug her or throttle her!"

"Aye, I saw her too, Pers. I know just as much as you about it. I need to find out what happened at the Great Hall. For now, have the men go through the town to find all the injured and get them to the Healer's tents right away. Tell them to make sure all the Orcs on the ground are truly dead. They can dispatch that order any way they wish." The last command was given with Bard's mouth in a grim, angry line. "Then, go find that wife of yours!" Bard knew that if – no, when – Hilda was found among the living, Percy's threats were groundless. Those two were devoted one another.

"Aye, I'll do that. I daresay the Elves have already been searching for the living, though. I imagine they're doing the same with what Orcs they find."

"If that's the case, then tell the men they can volunteer for the task, if they wish. We all need rest. The elves have more stamina than we do, and there are more of them, anyway. I've got to go find my family."

Percy could see the fear in his Commander's eyes. He put his hand on Bard's shoulder. "Don't worry, my boy. You'll find them, and they'll be fine. Go!"

Bard hardly needed the encouragement. He left Percy to carry out his orders and quickly made his way down Stone Street.

The children. He had to find them. Now.

With his heart pounding in his chest, he searched the streets, looking, calling out their names. As he made his way through the ruins, he couldn't find the courage to look closely at the dead bodies. Not yet. He kept his eyes up, his jaw set firmly. If Sigrid, Bain and Tilda weren't found, only then would he lower his gaze to the fallen. He'd keep his eyes up and forward, for as long as possible.

He checked the tents the Elves had set up, to treat the wounded. Elves, Dwarves and Humans were frantically working side by side to help those who needed attention. Everyone worked valiantly alongside their allies to see to the overwhelming numbers of victims. Those untrained in the Healing arts were helping as well, by boiling cloth for bandages, providing blankets to keep the injured warm, cleaning up the blood, and even performing the grim task disposing of amputated limbs. There were some sitting at the bedsides, sponging faces and offering a hand to hold. Despite Bard's anxiety, he was pleased at the sight. He was grateful he didn't see his children among them.

That meant either they were alive and whole, or-

No. Just No.

He continued his search through the streets and reached the Market Square.

Oh, gods; there they were! At the ruins of the carousel, Bain was sitting, sword across his knees, ready to protect his sisters. To his left, Sigrid was holding Tilda in her lap, stroking her hair as the child hid her face into her sister's chest. The older ones were staring ahead with unseeing eyes, still in shock from all the violence and bloodshed. His babies were alive.

Thank you thank you thank you...

Heaving a sigh, that came out as a sob, Bard dropped to his knees. Tears mingled with the dirt on his face as he tried calling out to them, but his voice was too shaky and breathy. He tried to go to them, but his legs were jelly; he was unable to get up. Again, he attempted to say their names; he could barely get the words out, his chest was heaving so hard…

Bain, hearing the faint sounds, turned to look. As recognition filled his face, the boy stood up slowly, afraid his eyes were playing tricks, that his Da was dead, and they were all alone in the world…

But there he was. He was truly there. He was nearly collapsed with exhaustion, but their father had come for them at last.

Bain found his voice, and screamed, "DA! DA!" He dropped his sword and flew over to Bard, who grabbed him and held him so tight, it pushed the air out of his lungs. Bain didn't care. His Da had found them.

Sigrid, looking up at Bain's cry, stood Tilda upright. Grabbing her sister's hand, she hurried to them, knocking father and son over in their attempts to get their arms around each other, as Bard did his best to gather all his children to him.

Holding onto each other for dear life, they found a way to sit up as a group; still crying hard, still clinging to each other. Bard buried his face into his oldest daughter's hair, taking deep breaths, trying to calm down, so he could calm them down. It took several minutes before anyone was able to speak.

Then they all started to talk at once.

"Oh, Da, I was so afraid!" Sigrid sobbed. "I tried to be strong for Bain and Tilda, but I c-couldn't help it. I was so scared! It was j-just so awful!" Sigrid hiccupped, wiping the tears from her face.

"I did my best to protect them, like you wanted, Da. I did my best, but I was so... What would we do if you died?" said Bain, his sobs starting all over again.

"I'm so proud of you. You were all so brave. We did it! Got rid of the Orcs and you're all safe now. It's over. It's over. Please don't cry, you're safe." The last statement was ironic, as Bard's own tears didn't seem to want to stop.

Tilda said nothing, just buried herself in her Da's chest, hiding her face in his shirt, with her little arms around his waist.

"We're safe now. It's all right," was all Bard could say at this point, so that's what he did. He said the words to them, over and over and over. He said it until they all started to settle down, to help their hearts stop pounding, to help them, especially himself, understand the danger had passed.

He said it again, to make sure his family knew they had survived and they were together.

Finally, they cried themselves out and their breathing was calming down.

"Are you warm enough? Have you eaten?" asked Bard, wiping his eyes on a sleeve.

"Tilda was shivering, so I gave her my coat to wrap up in," Bain told his father.

"Good man. Now, tell me, what happened at the Great Hall?"

"After some of the men and women in the Hall joined the fight, I found a corner for us to hide in." Bain told him. "It was just as well, Da. After we left, a Troll started to break in."

Bard felt Tilda press her face a bit harder into him. He wrapped his arm a bit tighter around her and stroked her hair.

"It ripped door open, then an Eagle came down and took it away." Bain finished, looking down at Tilda, and said no more.

"Thank you, Bain. You were very brave." Bard stroked through Bain's dark, wavy hair. "I'm so proud of you." he said, once again. He didn't care how many times he repeated it. He held all his babies in his arms, kissing Sigrid on the forehead, and Tilda's hair. He took deep breaths, immersing himself in the scent of them, the feel of them all warming each other, both outside and in.

"Let's see where we can find something to eat, yeah? We'll need blankets too. Bain, I'm proud of you for making sure Tilda was warm, but now you need to take care of yourself." Bard told his son. "Let's go find a warm fire, yeah? Come on, then. Once we get some food in our bellies, we'll feel a lot better, won't we?"

His older two spoke agreement, and Tilda said nothing, just held her face against his chest.

They stood up to make ready to walk. Bard gave Bain his coat back and, after removing his chain mail, put his own coat back on, picked his youngest up, and held her to himself, wrapping it around her. His mail lay in a heap on the ground, but he would send someone to get it later.

"There now, that's much better, isn't it?" Tilda just looked at him with a somber, unfocused look, before laying her head on his shoulder, arms around his neck and her little legs wrapped around his waist.

"Ready gang? Let's go then, shall we? Tilda, turn your head towards my neck, and close your eyes, darling. That's good." He didn't want his baby to see the carnage at their feet. To the older ones, he said, "Get right behind me, and stay close. Try not to look down; just follow my footsteps, can you do that for me?"

He decided one of the first things that needed to be done, was to provide an area for the surviving children to gather away from ALL of this. So many little eyes had seen too much; all the children of the Lake had seen unspeakable horror, and they needed to be spared the sights and smells of the cleanup. Maybe the Elvenking could help with this. He'd make sure to ask him when he saw him. To be honest, he knew there was much to discuss with Lord Thranduil, as well as the New King Under the Mountain, whoever he turned out to be.

But all that would have to wait. For now, and the rest of this day, he was not a Dragonslayer, Commander, Bowman, or even a Bargeman. He was a father. The sun would be setting soon, and needed to see to his family. Bard would find healing in that.

After searching a bit more around the town, he found a large fire with logs set up around it, near the outskirts of the city. Food was being served by the Elves for anyone who wished to partake. Bard saw there were several such fires in the area, which was good news; his people needed warmth and food. It was a consideration he hadn't expected to see, and he was thankful his people could be warmed and fed.

Bard and his family stepped closer to the fire, and found seats on one of the logs. The heat felt soothing, and they held their fingers out, to warm them. Off to the side of the fire, he saw stew had been cooked for everyone. Bard gently put Tilda down, with Bain beside her, and he and Sigrid walked over to where the food was being dished out. A dark-haired elf was serving them up with a smile, while conversing with Hilda. Bard grinned at her, and she smiled back, never stopping the flow of words to the Elf.

Good old Hilda; may the all the Valar bless her and Percy, for all they'd done for his family in Laketown. She watched his children when they needed it, helped them if they were sick, and was sly and cunning when distracting Braga and the rest of the Master's minions. Bard had smuggled in extra food and supplies for their people when he could, and Percy and Hilda were his best co-conspirators in getting the things past Alfrid and the guards. A real organizer, that woman.

Here she was, alive and, it would seem, well. She had always been a force to be reckoned with; if it was possible to rebuild the city of Dale, he'd need her and as many folk like her as he could.

Percy was sitting at the far side of the circle of logs, holding a bowl for Old Ben, whose arm was in a sling, so he could eat. His children will be glad to see them. They adored the older couple, and the feeling was mutual.

As Bard and Sigrid brought the bowls of hot venison stew over to the rest of the family, and sat down, Percy looked up from Old Ben and saw Bard and the children.

"Well now, here we are," Percy said with a smile, "That brood of yours is a sight for sore eyes! Did Hilda see you yet? She was looking for you all, worried sick."

"Aye, Hilda saw us, and I was glad to see her right back." returned Bard. "I suppose you gave your wife a good shaking, when you found her?"

"I decided there were better things to do." Percy gave him a wink.

Bard smirked. "I'll bet you did."

"You kids get yourselves warm and put that grub in your gullets as soon as you can." Percy continued, "It helps. Hilda's been educating our Elvish cook there, on the right way to spice up this stew. If he listened to her proper, as well he should, you'll find nothing to complain about."

Bard smiled. Hilda was not only well-known for her excellent cooking, she was famous (or, perhaps, infamous) for her outspoken nature. If ever there was a woman who could make the most of what little food was available, it was Percy's firebrand of a wife. He took a spoonful of stew and put it in his mouth.

It was delicious. She'd done it again. At this point, he was so exhausted and hungry from the day, he would eat anything put in front of him without complaint, but to have such hot, tasty food, after all of this, was an added comfort.

He looked to either side of him to make sure the children were also eating. Sigrid was consuming her dinner with relish. Bain, always hungry at the best of times, was practically face-down in his food, as if he was going to eat the bowl itself as soon as his dinner was gone.

Tilda, however wasn't eating. She just looked down at her bowl and stared.

"Come on, darling, eat up, yeah? It's very good." He took her spoon, put a little bit of stew to her mouth. "Sweetheart, you'll feel so much better when you've had a warm meal, I promise." She took a bite. "See? Isn't that better? I told you it was good. Auntie Hil helped make it, so you know it'll be first-rate, won't it?"

At the mention of Hilda's name, Tilda looked up at her Da, her eyes widening. She looked around her, suddenly more aware of her surroundings, and looked for the older woman. Hilda was still standing with the Elven cook, chatting. At the sight of her, Tilda got up, set her bowl down, and slowly stepped around the fire towards her. Noting the movement out of the corner of her eye, Hilda laid eyes on the child. With a cry and open arms, she stooped to catch the child up into her arms with a whoop just as if they were all back in Laketown and the dragon had never come.

"Now then, there's my little Beanie! Where have you been hiding?" She said, smiling at the little face. "Give your Auntie Hil a hug!" It was what she always said to the girl when she saw her. Before three words were out of her mouth Tilda had already wrapped her little arms around the woman's neck and buried her face in it. Everyone around the fire smiled at the sight of the two of them, Bard, most of all. He needed the comfort of a familiar face, and words he'd heard countless times. It was a little bit of home; a reminder that there still was much to be thankful for, amidst all this death and destruction. He swallowed hard, eyes stinging, at the scene before him; his dinner, for the moment, forgotten. Hilda was the closest thing to a mother Tilda had, and she and Percy were as dear to him as his parents had been.

Bard sat on the log, next to Sigrid and Bain, and watched his friend with his baby girl. Their baby girl. Hilda and Percy may not be blood, but they were family, nonetheless. They were kind and generous, and they took Bard and his family into their hearts, refusing to let go.

When Hilda looked over Tilda's shoulders at Bard, he held up her uneaten bowl of stew.

"Now, what's this, Little Bean? Haven't you eaten? Come on, lovey, Auntie Hil will make sure we get some of this good food in you, hmmm?" Tilda raised her head to look at her, still not speaking, and barely nodded her head. "Here, let's sit you down with Uncle Percy; that's it, and let's make sure our Beanie has plenty to eat so she can grow! How about that, yeah?" Then she walked to Bard, retrieved Tilda's dinner, and managed, with much cajoling and coos and kisses on her hair, to get the little one to eat until her stomach was full.

~o0o~

Tilda had been a quiet and easy baby; she hardly cried, which was a mercy granted to the remains of their grieving little family. Her mother, Mattie had died at her birth, leaving Bard bereft, and in over his head, when it came to caring for the children on his own. Hilda, along with Percy, were a blessing. She located another new mother in Laketown, to wet-nurse, until Tilda was able to take bottles of goat milk. Hilda was at the house almost daily, helping the overwhelmed father with things his wife had always taken care of.

Percy spent time with the older ones when he could, and was a pillar of strength for Bard to lean on. He would take Bard out on the lake to get some air, some space, and some privacy while he came to grips with this sudden new reality. Percy listened while Bard spoke, when he cried, and even when he screamed with fury, cursing anything he could think of to show his outrage that Mattie was gone, would never see her children again, and would never grow old beside him. And each time, when he was spent, he felt Percy's hands on his shoulders, offering silent comfort and strength.

As Tilda and her siblings grew, Hilda became a mother figure to all of them. When Bard got the job of transporting the Elvenking's wine barrels, it meant overnight trips up the Forest River twice a week. There was no question of who would care of the children; Hilda was insulted to even be asked.

"How could you think for one minute we wouldn't look after the little ones?" She poked a finger in his chest. "Just worry about getting yourself on that boat of yours in plenty of time. That's what you need to be thinking on. Leave the rest to me," she ordered him with her usual sharp, but loving, tongue.

When Sigrid grew into her teens, she wanted to act the mother of the house. She felt it was her duty, and as much as Bard hated the idea, he really needed the help. Auntie Hil would only allow this notion to a certain point, though. She'd show up at the house on the occasional morning, and, with a kiss to girl's forehead, turn Sigrid around and shove her out the door. "Off with you now! Go play with your friends and be a young girl."

Bain hero-worshiped Uncle Percy, and loved to join him out on the Long Lake. On his last birthday, he gave Bain a small knife, so he could learn how to whittle. "We menfolk need to stick together," Percy would say, with his arm around the boy.

~o0o~

After the bowls were empty, Bard gathered them up and took them back to the Elf, and thanked him for the food and the attention given to his people and their comfort. The elf bowed his head, saluting him. "I am honored at your thanks, Lord Bard." Bard still flinched when referred to by the title they bestowed upon him. Feeling a bit awkward, he nodded and turned to return to his family.

"Lord Bard?" Wincing, Bard turned in direction of the speaker. Another elf, again with dark hair and but this one had deep blue eyes. Galion was his name, he recalled; he served the Elvenking as his Aide.

"Yes?"

"Forgive me for disturbing your meal, but Lord Thranduil has arranged for a tent to house you and your family. He has requested it be near his camp, as it will be convenient for the meetings to take place soon, but he leaves the final decision to you."

Bard was taken aback at this, but he also felt relief. In all the frenzy of this day, he hadn't thought about where he and his family would sleep. The corner of the building they had been staying in had been destroyed by one of the trolls.

"I'm grateful, but I should stay near my people, if that would be agreeable to your King." He hoped it would be. He and the children needed a safe place to rest; if the King insisted on deciding where their temporary home would be set up, there was little Bard could say about it.

Galion was ready with his reply. "King Thranduil has already considered this possibility. I have been ordered to place your things where you think best. In addition, King Thranduil will be placing guards around your camp, so your people can rest in safety. Two guards will be placed outside of your tent as well." Bard opened his mouth to protest at that last piece of information, then closed it. Galion was merely following orders, and Bard was too weary to argue.

"Thank you, Galion." Bard told the elf. "My children and I are still getting warm. We'll be here for a while longer."

A small smile appeared on Galion's face.

"Of course, My Lord." Again with the title. "Once things are made ready, someone will be sent to escort you to your quarters."

"That sounds just fine, Galion. Cheers."

Bard returned to his family, and sat for a while, staring into the flames. He looked over at Sigrid, to see if she was all right. She looked tired, but seemed determined to keep her composure. She took after her Mam, that one, both in looks and in her ways. Bain was practically asleep in his seat, so he his arm around him and urged the boy to lean on him. He'd become a man far faster than Bard ever wanted for him, but he'd pushed through his fear and did his best. Bard was never so proud of his son as he was on this night.

He reminded himself to take another look at the wound across Bain's chest, left by the string of the makeshift bow used to sink his Black Arrow into the Dragon's heart. After the Elves arrived in Dale three weeks ago, he'd taken his son to see their Healers, who had cleaned the wound and applied some salve and a bandage. At first, Bain had tried to hide it from him, but Bard caught him wincing a few times and demanded to know why. When Bain opened his shirt, Bard winced at sight. Bain, being Bain, just grinned.

"No worries, Da! If anybody doesn't believe I helped you kill the Dragon, I can prove it!"

Bard looked over at Tilda, still seated between Hilda and Percy. She had not uttered a word since he'd found them, but she seemed slightly more relaxed. After she'd grown out of her infant years into a little girl, she'd always been cheerful, and a bit quiet. She was a bit shy, and took a bit of time to get used to new people and things, but tonight, in front of the fire, his daughter was different. The child was hiding inside of herself, and he wasn't sure how they would draw her back out. She'd she had a decent meal in her, and allowed herself to be held; it was a good sign, but she was far from all right.

"Tilda? Little Bean?" The little girl tipped her head back to look up at Hilda. "Where is Charlotte, the dolly I made for you for your birthday?"

This question startled Bard. He didn't even notice the toy was gone.

For almost four years, that doll went everywhere with her. Since Tilda's third birthday, the stuffed doll with red, woolen hair had been her constant companion. On the few occasions that Charlotte had been misplaced, Tilda would howl at the top of her lungs, while her family scrambled frantically, to find the doll and place it her arms. She had been holding the doll tightly when he first saw her and Sigrid on the shores of the Lake, the morning after the attack. She never let go, during weeks after the Elves came, bringing food, blankets, tents, and medicines. The morning of the March on Erebor, as he kissed the kids goodbye, telling them not to be afraid, this would be over in a few hours, Tilda's doll was in her arms, clutched even tighter.

"Tilda," he said softly. Bard got up and walked around the fire to squat in front of her. "Can you tell me what happened to Charlotte?" Tilda looked at her father and gave him a blank stare for a few minutes. Then she opened her mouth to speak, her voice just above a whisper.

"I threw her away, Da. She got blood on her and I couldn't see her face anymore." Tilda, numb and emotionless, looked at him with dry eyes. Oh, Valar…the sight of that was much worse than tears; crying would have been good for her. This nothingness was agony to see.

Bard took his baby girl into his arms, furious at the world for doing this to her. Furious at the Master for keeping them in such poverty. Furious at the Dwarves, and the Dragon. Furious at anything and everything that kept his children from being safe and happy, and furious with himself; because he couldn't prevent any of it.

Bard looked at Hilda, feeling helpless. He'd no idea how he could make this up to Tilda, or any of his them. Blinking back her own tears, Hilda reached out and gathered the girl into her lap, and began to rock her with a soothing song, sung to children in Laketown for generations. She gave Bard a nod and sharply inclined her head towards the outside of the gathering. Bard needed some time alone, and as usual, she realized it before he did. Her look ordered him to take a walk to settle himself. Percy went over to take Bard's place between the older children, and gathered them to him with a reassuring smile.

Bard stood and strode away from the warmth and light, into the evening darkness.

What no one around the fire knew, was that the Elvenking had been standing a short distance away, in the shadows of the ruins. His sharp eyesight and Elven hearing took in everything that had occurred concerning the Bowman and his family.

Bard wandered for some minutes, hoping to calm the pounding in his heart, and his short, shallow breaths. He found himself by a great stone wall - Girion's castle. It was in ruins, just like everything here was in ruins, and the survivors of Laketown were looking to him, expecting him bring it all back to life again! He had no clue how to do that, yet if he didn't find a way, there would be more suffering, more death.

He wasn't crying, yet tears flooded his face, flowing into his mustache and beard. He felt the handle of his sword, hanging from his belt, and drew it out of its scabbard. He stared intensely at the sharp blade, shining brightly even though the moon was covered with clouds.

He'd handled a sword occasionally before this, but he was a bowman, not a swordsman. Even after today, it felt foreign in his hand. He hated it. He hated what he was forced to do with it: dealing out death after death, hours on end. Never before this had he taken a life, but in a matter of hours, he must have dealt a killing blow dozens of times with it. Those filthy Orcs deserved to die, but it was hard to reconcile that he was the one to make it happen.

He was no military leader. He was no killer - he was a Bargeman, a bowman, a fisherman. He was a father, not a soldier. He never imagined he would be forced into the position of leading others into battle; leading people he'd known all his life, knowing he sent many to their deaths. How could he live with that?

Taking the handle in both hands, he struck the sword against the wall, again and again, cursing it and all that forced him to wield it. Between gritted teeth, he let fly a stream of profanity; words he hoped would never reach his children's ears. Swearing, sweating, and grunting with the effort, he continued to punish both the sword and the wall until he exhausted himself.

Finally, he lowered his arms and threw it down, panting. He leaned his forehead on the cold surface of the wall, soothing his hot, sweaty face, until his breaths came at a slower, deeper pace. He turned, leaned against the stone, slid down to sit, and stared at the ground.

After a few minutes, grey boots soundlessly appeared before him.

"I doubt that sword will be serviceable after this," said a familiar, arrogant, baritone voice.

Bard tracked the owner of the voice; up the legs, torso, shoulders, and, finally, to the face of the Elvenking. Their eyes met, but Bard could find nothing to say.

"You are past exhaustion, Bard, and you should get some rest." Thranduil reached out his hand and the Bowman took it, standing him up.

"I will take you to your tent; you need a wash and a bed." Bard felt too weary to argue with him. He turned towards the direction of the fire to gather the children.

"They will be fine, Bard. I will send Tauriel for them in a short while. She will bring them when you have settled yourself."

He nodded, and Thranduil placed a hand on his shoulder. "Come," and steered him in the direction of the Laketown survivor's campsite. Presently, they reached what apparently was Bard's quarters. The tent was the same style as the Elvenking, but just a bit smaller, and two Elven guards were stationed at the entrance.

Bard opened his mouth to protest at this, but Thranduil raised his hand, "It is necessary. We have much to discuss, about this and many other things, but for now, please, I ask you to trust me on this matter." He turned to one of the guards, speaking in Elvish, who saluted his King and left. He then turned back to Bard, "I have instructed him to go tell the children to wait for Tauriel, and both of them are to escort them back to your tent, when you are ready," he reassured him.

The remaining guard lifted the flap at the entrance for them, and they walked inside. Bard saw that a brazier had been lit, warming the shelter. Ahead, behind a partition that had been folded open, four cots had been set up, complete with warm blankets and soft pillows. Neatly-folded clothing had been placed on stools at the foot of each bed; for him and the children. To the left of the entrance was a table with chairs, a bowl of fruit and a pitcher of water. On the right was a curtained-off area, which, upon inspection, held a table with a large bowl with a pitcher, a wooden commode chair with a lid, and there was a tub for bathing. The last had been filled with hot, steaming water, waiting for him. Soap, a linen cloth for drying, and a clean clothes were folded neatly on the nearby table. A wonderful, soothing scent was coming from the water. Bard inhaled deeply.

"What you smell is Athelas, which you know as Kingsfoil. It will relax you and help with cuts, bruises and soreness. Please, get in, while the water is still hot." Thranduil looked at him expectantly.

The Elvenking didn't leave, which made Bard a bit uncomfortable. "Uh... I can do this myself, thanks."

"Under other circumstances, I would agree with you. But your muscles are seizing up from all you did today. I've noticed your movement become increasingly stiff as we made our way here. I am sorry, but just for this evening, you are going to need some help. It will either be me, or one of the guards outside. You may make your choice."

Heaving a sigh, Bard allowed Thranduil's assistance in removing his clothes. As it turned out, the elf was right about Bard's limited movement. When he tried to raise his arms, he found it was nearly impossible. And bending over to remove his boots was impossible. Shit, he was hurting! Thranduil, nonplussed at seeing the Lakeman in his altogether, helped him step into the fragrant, steaming bath, and eased him down.

Eyes closed, he sank into the water up to his neck, and leaned back with a heavy sigh. It felt wonderful. Then a disturbing thought occurred to Bard, and his eyes suddenly opened wide.

"Please tell me you don't plan to wash me!" came out of his mouth, before he could stop the words.

A short laugh from the Elf. "No, I do not. The Athelas will soothe and loosen you up quite nicely, if you sit in it for a while, and you will be able to take care of things yourself. Then, I strongly suggest you get into bed and rest. Your children will be along once you are finished." With that, he turned to leave.

"Lord Thranduil?"

The Elvenking glanced back over his shoulder, to meet his eyes.

"Thank you for this."

Thranduil turned to face him, once more.

"My motives aren't entirely altruistic. I need you well-rested and fit. There is much to do, and we have much to settle, before negotiations start with the Dwarves."

"I still need to show gratitude on behalf of my people. We wouldn't have survived any of this without your help. You really did save us."

"Nonsense. You Lakemen are resourceful and resilient. Besides, as told you: I merely came here to get my necklace." Thranduil said with a small smile on his face, lifting a dark brow.

"You may say those words as often as you like, My Lord, but I'll never fully believe you." Bard said with a grin. With that, he lowered his head under the water.

When he surfaced again, the King was gone. He was right about the healing herbs. Bard soaked in tired bliss while they worked their magic and, eventually, his aches and pains were eased. Then Bard washed himself and his hair thoroughly. After drying, he changed into clean clothes, and lay down on his cot, on the far left. His plan was to wait for his children to arrive, but, seconds after his head touched the feathered pillow, he was fast asleep.

The King of the Woodland Realm made his way through the darkened streets of Dale toward his own quarters. He didn't tell Bard he planned to wait outside, and, when he heard the Lakeman lie down, place a losta-luith over him, to send him into a deep, dreamless sleep. He smiled, remembering Bard's embarrassment at his nakedness in front of the Elvenking. Elves had little qualms regarding this sort of thing, but Men tended to be a bit shy. Bard's body, even covered in nicks and bruises, was powerful, and muscular. Years of hard work had shaped and sculpted his body to perfection. Bard was beautiful... Thranduil was reluctant to admit he found that last thought unsettling.

Earlier, after Thranduil had finally returned from Ravenhill, he'd wandered through the shadowy ruins of Dale for a long while, still feeling the effects of the Battle. He had witnessed Bard's reunion with his children in the Market, their meal by the fire, and observed the Bowman's grief, at the small child's state. Then he watched Bard wander into the night to collect himself, and felt empathy. Thranduil, more than anyone, knew what was going through Bard's mind; he understood the weight of that terrible responsibility, and had followed Bard at a distance to give him privacy, yet make sure he was safe.

After leaving Bard asleep, Thranduil had come across Tauriel. She'd been sitting against the ruins of a stone wall, staring up into the night sky, searching amongst the clouds for stars, to find what small comfort she could after such a terrible loss. He quietly called her name, and motioned her over to him. As she stood before him, he ordered, "Until further notice, Captain., you are assigned as Guard to Lord Bard's children, and will be their Chief Caretaker. They must be kept safe from harm, at all costs. Do you understand?"

Bard wasn't aware yet, of the importance of his children's safety, especially the young son, but he would very soon.

The relief on Tauriel's face had been palpable. The assignment was genuinely important, but Thranduil wanted to give this young Elf a useful purpose, to ease her unhappiness.

Not meeting his eyes, Tauriel saluted. "Yes, my Lord."

"They are sitting by the fire on the east side of City Wall. Guard them for one hour, unseen, then bring them to Bard's tent."

Thranduil decided this assignment was a good one, from all angles. The children, he'd learned, had been attacked by Orcs in Laketown before the Dragon came, and Legolas and Tauriel had rescued them, then transported them out of the inferno once Smaug appeared in the sky. They knew her, and trusted her. Tauriel would do well with the young ones as well; it would, hopefully, distract her from the grief she felt. What better way to lift a grieving spirit, than the laughter of a child?

What better way, indeed.

His keen sight spotted a colorful object ahead in the dark. He stepped over to it, and reached down to pick it up. Stained and bloodied, he saw the red woolen hair.

It was the doll that Bard's youngest child spoke of. He regarded it for a moment or two, then carried it back to his tent.


	3. Chapter 3

12

 **Chapter Three**

 **City of Dale, 24** **th** **of November, 2941 T.A.**

Daylight bathed the walls of the tent in a golden glow, as a bleary-eyed Bard sat up, rubbed his face, and took a look around their temporary home. To his left, the blankets and pillows of the other three cots, plus the loosely-folded sleeping clothes indicated the children had been and gone.

With limbs still heavy from sleep, Bard rolled out of bed, staggered to the entrance of the tent, and was startled by the pair of tall, Auburn-haired Elf guards, who opened the flap for him.

"Good morning, Lord Bard." The one on the right saluted him with a pleasant smile.

"Uh…Good morning. Have you seen my children?"

"Yes, My Lord. Captain Tauriel took them to break their fast, and they are currently on an outing," the Elf's nose wrinkled slightly, "with one of her Dwarven friends."

"Where?"

"To a nearby copse of trees. Please do not worry, My Lord; they are perfectly safe. Tauriel is a capable warrior, and two other guards accompanied the party to scout the area."

"But… Wh…" He scratched his head and blinked up at the sky. "What time is it?"

"It is three hours' past sunrise, My Lord."

"It's _what?_ Why did you let me sleep so late?"

Unruffled, the Guard explained in a patient tone, "Because you needed to rest, My Lord. King Thranduil ordered that your sleep not be disturbed."

"Well, can you at least tell me if there's any breakfast left?"

"Certainly, my Lord. I will have it brought to you right away.

"No, that's not necessary. I'll go scrounge up something or other—"

"King Thranduil has ordered you be served a substantial breakfast: hot porridge with fruit, and tea, if you wish." The Guard's eyes glinted in amusement. "And should you object, I am to insist upon it, My Lord."

"But…I…"

"Yes, My Lord?"

"Please don't call me that!" He was crabby from sleep, not _at all_ ready to deal with this. "My name is Bard. Just call me Bard."

"I cannot do that, My Lord."

Bard's shoulders slumped in resignation. "Fine. I'll take breakfast here. And, yes, tea would be good."

"As you wish, My Lord, we will bring it right away."

"Well, I don't _wish,_ but apparently I have no choice in the matter," he snapped, as he turned to re-enter. His hand lifted to get the flap, but the other guard beat him to it, lips tucked in to hide a smile.

Bard cursed under his breath, and stomped inside.

Despite his annoyance, Bard found the meal pleasant; the food was good, the tea was just right, and the quiet helped him wake up and get ready for what was undoubtedly going to be a hectic day. After washing and changing into day clothes, he put on his boots and coat.

The Bowman slowly tip-toed toward the entrance, this time holding his breath and his fingers just about touched the tent flap—

When graceful, swift fingers beat him to it.

Bard growled, ignoring their grins of triumph.

His first stop was the center of the refugee camp. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of metal. One of the Guards was following him. The annoying one.

"Stop that." He called over his shoulder.

"I cannot, My Lord; I am under orders to accompany you wherever you go."

Bard turned around in his tracks. "Why?"

"To ensure your safety, My Lord."

"What happened to your side-kick?"

"He is guarding your tent, My Lord."

One of his eyes twitched, and he opened his mouth to say something unpleasant, when someone called his name.

"Hey, Bard!" Percy trotted over to him. "'Bout time you got up!"

"I'm sorry; _someone_ didn't wake me up."

"I was just teasing. We're all sluggish and sore, and a few extra hours rest will do them good." The Elves passed out stuff to help with aches and pains, and…" A quizzical brow arched above Percy's left eye. "I see we have an entourage?"

"Don't ask." Bard rolled his eyes skyward.

"So… Am I standing in the presence of greatness, now?" Percy said, with a flourish. "Should I bow? Kiss your feet, perhaps?"

Behind him, there was a snort, covered by a cough.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Let everybody sleep, Pers, but I need them up and fed by noon; there's some gruesome work to do, and it's not right to leave it for the Elves to take care of."

Percy's smile disappeared, and thinned into a grim line. "I know, lad. We've already started the lists for the dead and missing. I've also found a place to put them, and we're going to start the digging today. So many…"

"I know, Percy," his voice was thick, as he clapped his hand on his friend's shoulder. "I'm sorry to put this on you; I really am."

"I know, but we'll do right by them, lad."

"Can't ask for more." Bard cleared his throat. "Where's your wife this morning?"

"Last I saw, she was helping the Elves in the big Food Tent."

"Good. I need to speak to her, but I'll probably be at Lord Thranduil's all day, so if you need me, look for me there."

"Will do." With a nod, his friend was off to get started.

He found Hilda over a tub of soapy water, in the Food Tent, washing a stack of dirty plates, as Enid and Catrina wiped and stacked them.

"Morning," he called over. "In the thick of things, already?"

"Aye, well," she smiled up at Bard. "You know me."

"Could you spare a few minutes? I've got a couple things to ask you."

"Sure." Hilda wiped off her hands, asked Catrina to take her place, and followed him away from the bustle.

"Have you seen the children this morning? I was asleep when they came to bed, and they were gone when I woke up. The guard," he pointed to his shadow standing a few feet away, "told me Tauriel took them away from the camp."

"It was my idea, love. When she brought them here earlier, I asked her to get them away from this mess and take them for a walk or a picnic or something. One of the Dwarves showed up – the one with the hat? Sigrid and Bain seemed glad to see him, and asked him to tag along.

""Aye, that's Bofur. Sigrid told me about him when the Orcs attacked my house that night. He fainted, and she doused him with a bucket of water to wake him up."

"'Laketown medicine,'" a smile crinkled her mouth. "Anyhow, I sent them with a good lunch basket, and that should keep them busy today."

Bard lowered his voice. "How was Tilda?"

"Not a peep out of her, poor mite," Hilda's forehead creased with concern. "Tauriel sat her in her lap, and made sure she ate breakfast."

"Well, that's something." He sighed. "What are we going to do about her, Hil?"

"Keep trying; it's all we can do," she rubbed his upper arm. "Maybe this day trip will do her some good, yeah?"

"It'll do them _all_ some good, Tauriel, too." Bard shook his head. "I can't believe I slept in so late."

"You needed it." She waved her hand dismissively. "The thing is, Tilda's not the only one suffering from shock. We've got to get _all_ these kids away from this mess, not just ours, don't you think?"

"'Great minds,'" he agreed. "I was planning to ask Lord Thranduil to set something up away from the cleanup during the day, then come back in the evenings to be with their families."

"I like it. We'll get all the kids together, and the bigger ones can help with the younger ones, and some of the older folks could help too; it'd make them feel useful. I'll ask Bronwyn to get some sort of program put together."

"Great. As soon as I get the word, I'll let you know." Bard scratched his forehead, and broached another subject. "Hil, I'll be in meetings all the time, now - there's no avoiding it. Percy's in charge of the men and the cleanup, but I need someone with a sharp eye in charge of the women and children and the shelters here. Would you be in charge of the running of the Camp? Make sure everybody has a job to do and is doing it, and report back to me, yeah?"

"Course I will." She gave a half shrug. "I've been doing that already. This just makes it official."

His shoulders relaxed a bit. "Between the three of us, we might keep ahead of things. I'll tell them to look to you."

"I'll do it; most folks already come to me anyhow. Now, get you gone to the Elf King; I've got work to do." With a smile, Hilda turned to walk away, but she stopped suddenly and gave Bard a long, hard hug. "We all of us wouldn't be here if it weren't for you." She held him tighter. "I'm so proud of you, love."

He closed his eyes and enjoyed her soft strength. "Thanks; I really needed that."

Hilda sniffed a bit, patted him on the cheek, and returned to the Food Tent, while Bard traveled through the ruins to meet with Thranduil.

With that irritating guard following him.

"Lord Thranduil, I don't see why the children and I need guards!"

"Good morning, Bard," The Elvenking greeted him pleasantly. "Did you not sleep well?"

"As a matter of fact, I did. But you haven't answered my question."

"I do not believe you asked a question. Therefore, I am puzzled as to why you require an answer." A thick, dark eyebrow rose on the blonde King's face.

Bard's eyes narrowed. "Fine; My Lord, _why_ do the children and I need guards?"

"First of all, please sit down," Thranduil indicated the chair at the large, round table. "Would you like something to drink? Water? Wine? I have juice as well, or perhaps some tea?"

Bard sat. "It's a bit early, but something tells me I'll need the wine."

The King poured some into a silver goblet, and set it in front of him.

"Thank you, My Lord."

"Next, let us dispense with titles, shall we? Since our stations are equal, there is no need for deference to each other. Call me Thranduil, please."

"We are not 'equals!'" Bard's foot bounced with agitation. "A month ago, I a Bargeman, an employee of yours, who delivered your wine, and smuggled supplies every now and then. I've spent weeks preparing for a war that was never supposed to happen in the first place, and now I've got this title pushed on me, and your guards who are using it every chance they get!

"Speaking of which, please answer my question. _Why_ do you insist on assigning guards to the children and me?" Bard took a sip of the wine, and winced slightly. Dorwinian was strong stuff, so he'd be wise to go slow.

Or not.

"Bard," Thranduil's smile dropped as he took a seat opposite him. "I am afraid you are no longer just a Bargeman or Bowman: you will never be 'just' anything, again. You require guards, because your life is far too important, not only to your children, but to all of Dale. Beyond survival, they look to you for strength and confidence, as well as guidance, and your children are symbols to show Dale will continue and endure."

"But—"

"From this day forward, you will have to watch every step you take, each word that comes out of your mouth, and carefully weigh every decision, be it for Dale or your private life. You belong to _them_ , now. It is the same with your children, I am sad to say; they will be expected to set the example. Your people need you to show them how to help Dale grow and prosper, and you all must be protected against those who do not wish to see this happen."

Bard opened his mouth to protest, but Thranduil raised a hand to silence him, as he continued:

"I ask you to please let me finish. The fire which destroyed Laketown, did not discriminate between the good and the bad, did it? You lost many good people, as well as less-than-savory characters. By the same token, good people survived, along with those loyal to the old Master. Some of his guardsmen are among the survivors, as you have noticed?"

"Aye," he admitted.

"For the last several weeks, your people fought together against a common enemy with little trouble, but, as we move past these calamities, they will recall their former allegiances; and might want to replace you with someone who serves their own needs. This could instigate an uprising among the refugees. Surely you understand this."

Bard blinked. He'd honestly never considered it.

Thranduil continued with his explanation. "Appointing guards around the camp does not just serve to protect your people from danger, it is also a clear warning to anyone who would thwart you. The personal guards prevent a problem before it has a chance to start."

"How long will we need them?"

Thranduil's features softened with empathy. "For the rest of your lives, I am afraid."

"But… I fell into all this, though," Bard tucked in his upper lip. "Isn't there _anyone else?"_

"No," Thranduil leaned on his elbows, his eyes intense, but his voice kind. "It is essential, Bard, and I cannot stress this enough: _it is absolutely essential_ to the future of all three Northern Kingdoms that _you_ be the one to rule. You _must_ be kept safe, and your children must be safe to carry on your legacy."

"Why me? I'm not really qualified..."

"You are more qualified than you realize; you are a direct descendent of Girion and whether you will it or no, Dale is your _birthright_ , Bard. This kingdom, _your_ kingdom, belongs to you, and no other."

A knot formed in Bard's stomach, and his limbs felt heavy. Was this a _joke?_ He eyed the Elf, and half-expected him to burst in to laughter and say it was all some sort of joke, but… no, Thranduil's face remained patient and somber…

 _Oh, shit…_

"You…" he swiped his hand over his mouth. "You're going to try to turn me into a King, aren't you?"

" _I_ am not going to 'make you' into _anything_ , Bard. The moment you set foot in Dale, you became its rightful ruler. The Elves know this, all the Dwarves know this, Mithrandir, Radagast, and Beorn know this. Messages have already been sent all over Middle Earth, including Gondor," the Elf refilled his cup and handed it to him. "You _are a_ King, and have been for weeks now."

 _Bloody_ __ _fuck…_

Bard took the cup, drained it, and held it out for more.

After giving him some more wine, Thranduil patiently waited for the Bowman to digest the news. Did he truly have no idea?

Several minutes went by, as Bard consumed his drink. When he offered it for a third refill, Thranduil shook his head.

"Getting drunk will not change the truth. When you sober up, you will still be a King, my friend."

"Are you out of your mind?" Bard's head shook vigorously. No, Thranduil! It's one thing to oversee people in a crisis, but... you're talking about running a Kingdom. An _entire bloody Kingdom,_ for Valar's sake! I've no clue how to be a King; I wouldn't know where to begin!"

"I agree. You do not know, at least, not at the moment. This is why I have decided to help you."

Bard lifted his cup again, and dared him to refuse. Thranduil allowed him a small amount, which he tossed back with a grimace.

"I _am not ready_ for something like this!"

"I understand your dilemma all too well. Kingship was thrust upon me when I was not much older than Tauriel. I was no more ready for it than you are, and the Woodland Realm is vast, with hundreds of thousands of people," he said. "Like you, I became a King in the midst of death, destruction and terrible grief. Fortunately, I had help, and I am offering you the same."

" _You_ want to help me?" Bard leaned back in his chair. "Why all the sudden interest now? You've barely had anything to do with Laketown for generations. You and I both know you wouldn't be offering this if there wasn't something in it for you." He crossed his arms. "So… what's in it for you?"

"A fair question, and spoken like a true ruler." Thranduil lifted his cup in a salute, then drank it down. "You are correct. I and my people have had little interest in the world outside of my realm, and did not encourage outsiders for a long time."

"Why?"

He hesitated, choosing his words with care. "I will be happy to tell you, but for the moment, the better question is _why this has to change."_

"Fair enough; I'll go along with it, provided you're honest with me."

"Of course." The Elvenking took a deep breath. "As you know, Dol Guldur had been occupied by someone called 'The Necromancer' for over two thousand years. He was the cause of the sickness in the Southern portions of my home, and this necessitated the removal of my people to the North. When Erebor was established, the Dwarves were hired to design an entire system of vast caves in the northern mountains, which is now my Palace. Many of my people prefer village life, and are closely guarded, but if need be, they can be brought to my Halls, and once those doors are closed, none, not even this Necromancer, could enter."

Thranduil swallowed down the lump in his throat, and took a sip. "Or so I thought."

"What do you mean?"

"The Necromancer was no ordinary Sorcerer, Bard. When the White Council went to Dol Guldur to rescue Mithrandir, they discovered he was none other than the Dark Lord himself! Sauron had been sitting in _my Kingdom,_ and I knew nothing of it!" He slammed his cup down and his lip curled. "He brought the Spiders, the Orcs, the disease…" he shook his head. "He used my own grief against me, but that is no excuse; those lands are my responsibility and I did not see it!"

" _Holy shit…"_ Bard's face went white to the lips. "What…what does Gandalf say?"

Thranduil ran his hands along his jaw, and fiddled with the stem of his goblet. "He assures me that I could not have known; the Dark Lord had disguised himself and the legions he was amassing."

"Could you have stopped it if you _had_ known?"

"No. It took the combined forces of Elrond, Saruman and Galadriel to fight the Nine Walkers. When Sauron revealed himself, the Lady herself managed to banish him, but at great cost; we do not know if she will recover, and the Wizard is very concerned."

Bard leaned forward and rested his arms on the table. "I see Gandalf's point; you couldn't have known, and what could you have done about it?"

"He is right, but I am still angry. That hill used to be the fortress of Amon Lanc, built by my father! I was born there, it was my home; it was bad enough we had to abandon it, but the idea of—" His shoulders flinched in reluctance. "Perhaps I will accept it in time. Regardless, he has been banished back to Mordor in the South."

His eyes met the greenish brown of the Bowman's. "But that does not mean we remain safe here. What I am about to tell you will hopefully make you understand why you _must_ take up this task; you and no other."

Bard's face pinched in apprehension. "Oh, gods… Sauron won't stay in Mordor, will he?"

"No. I have a gift of foresight, Bard, and have seen the Dark Lord's return. There is only one way to truly stop him, but of this I cannot speak; we must place our hope in others to whom the Valar appoint. But I _have_ seen there will be a Great War after the next few generations of Men, and it will either destroy him, or destroy all that we hold dear.

"This War will come to the North, Bard, and the only chance we have of victory is to form a strong Alliance between Elves, Men and Dwarves, and put all our energies into strengthening and stabilizing this region, or all will be lost!

"Do you see? This is why you must be King, but you _cannot_ do it alone; you need _me_ , just as much as the North needs _you_. I also understand your doubts—"

"I do have doubts!" The Bowman snapped, then he closed his eyes, and calmed himself. "If things are as critical as you say, I ask you again: why should I trust you?"

"Because _only an experienced ruler can provide you with the training you need, Bard!_ Do you think I could have done this on my own? Not at all! I was much too young, and completely unprepared! If not for the support of my father's Aide, my Kingdom would have been in ruins thousands of years ago."

"You mean your Aide, Galion?"

"Yes! Galion served the Woodland Realm since the day my father was asked to be King, and for two-and-a-half-thousand years he stood by his side. When Oropher was killed…" his mouth went dry, and he had to take a drink, "In the midst of his own sorrow, he did what I could not. He was strong for me, and quite literally shoved me out of the tent on that Battlefield with a crown on my head!

Galion forced me to take my rightful place, not because I wanted to, not because _he wanted me to,_ either! He did it because my father above all else was a servant to his people! If we did not act, all Oropher had loved and protected would fall to ruin." Thranduil's voice cracked, surreptitiously wiped the corner of his eye. "Galion stood beside Oropher, because he loved him, and he made me be the King I should be out of love, as well."

Thranduil leaned toward the Bowman and asked earnestly, "Tell me, Bard: could you live with yourself if you allow your doubts to stop you? If something terrible happened to your people, knowing you could have helped them, what would become of your soul?"

Bard licked his lips and answered hoarsely. "I… think it would destroy me, from the inside out."

"Yes, it would, for you are a Man of honor, but honor is not enough, Bard! Kingship is a crushing burden, and comes at a terrible price. Every decision you make affects their lives, and every mistake can cost lives and can _also destroy you_ , if you do not have the right people to support you. Do not doubt it!"

"What if there _is_ who knows what they're doing?"

"It would be too late," his hands swept toward the entrance of the tent. "Your people out there have put their faith and trust in _you_ , and they will follow no other. Deep down, I believe you know this."

"I want to know something," Bard's piercing gaze bore into him, demanding answers, demanding truth. "Where did you and your men go during the Battle yesterday? I heard the horns; I saw your men retreat. You came back, but still, Thranduil, you tried to leave! You _will_ tell me why, or I'll walk out of here right now!"

 _Ai Belain!_

The Elf's grey eyes closed, and his heart leaped like a wild stag against his ribs. His hand traveled to his chest and clutched the fabric of his tunic as the silence hung between them.

He _never_ talked about this, not to Galion, not to Feren, not even to his wife, when she was alive…

With a shaky breath, Thranduil opened his eyes, and forced the words past his lips in a low, quiet voice that refused to remain even:

"Bard," he began, "have you ever been in a war before this?"

"No."

"You are fortunate. I have, more often than I would wish on anyone. It is a terrible, unnatural thing - the sight of the dead, the sounds of swords clashing, the tearing of flesh, the screams of pain, the smell of blood and shit, evacuated from the bowels of the dead… indescribable horrors to one who has not lived it. Many are killed. Many are wounded. _All_ are changed forever. You will soon see this truth within yourself, and for that I grieve, for none deserve it.

"The Battle of the Five Armies lasted one day. The War of the Last Alliance went on for _seven_ _years_." He huffed a wry laugh, as he shook his head. " _Ai!_ I was _so proud_ to ride to War at my father's side, ignorant of the true horrors I was about to face. Oropher tried to warn me, but I was too young, too excited be a part of it all!" He spread his palms. "Was our cause not just? I foolishly believed the forces of good would overcome, we would win, and surely we would return in a few months!

"I ask you, Bard, we won yesterday, but do you feel like the victor? When you saw the dead in the streets, the ruined buildings, the broken Eastern Wall, did you feel triumphant?"

"No," Bard quietly sighed. "Not at all."

"Dagorlad was covered in bodies of dead Orcs, just as I had hoped," he swallowed. " _Nothing_ prepared me for that… sea of Elven faces, many of whom were my childhood friends!" He paused, and his voice rasped as a tear fell, unchecked. "Nothing, _nothing,_ could prepare me as I watched an Orc swing a Morningstar over the head of a father I adored, and crushing the back of his skull…"

" _Oh, sweet Ulmo…"_ came from the Bowman. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have—"

"No!" He held up his hand. "You are right to ask this of me, and you deserve an answer! This is part of the terrible price of protecting this Kingdom, Bard: sending people into battle, and knowing some will not survive." Thranduil's eyes closed in consternation. "You know this."

"Yes, I do."

"Yet the cost was becoming too steep, in the Last Alliance. My father ordered us to go to War to protect the Kingdom, and he was right to do this. He had to be willing to sacrifice some, in order to protect the whole. But as the War dragged on, too many of his people were dying, and this threatened the very existence of the Woodland Realm.

"Elves do not increase nearly the same as Men. Even after two and a half millennia, our population has not returned to the numbers it once was, and when the forest became sick, our population growth slowed even further. Some have left for Valinor, and after this I am sure we will lose a great many more from grief."

"These are sound reasons for our temporary retreat. At this point, if I said no more, I think you would accept this. However…" Thranduil paused and swallowed painfully, "However, you deserve to know the _entire_ truth, Bard."

"What do you mean?"

"When I was in the streets of Dale yesterday, I saw the bodies of my people, but I… saw more than that... I saw Dagorlad! I swear, I saw those same brown plains, the same mountains, even the smells from that wretched place filled my nostrils again...

"I saw my father," he rasped, "lying in a pool of red and black blood that never blends, the back of his head smashed to bits, staring up at me with eyes that held no life.

"I heard the voices of those who made the long trip home, the weeping of families, searching for the faces of their loved ones, and," the words came out as a sob, "the anguish and guilt in my heart when they looked to me with accusing eyes…

"Those memories have haunted my dreams for an age, but how could these visions invade my waking hours? I cannot tell you how it happened, only that it did. It... frightened me, Bard."

His toes curled inside his boots, as he forced himself to keep on:

"You were right. I _did_ order a retreat. I…should not have done so. I am sorry for it, Bard; I truly am." He lowered his eyes and scrutinizing the inlaid woodwork on the table, absently tracing its pattern, as he tried to regain control.

A quiet voice asked him, "What made you change your mind, Thranduil?"

"I am… ashamed to say it was changed _for_ me."

 _Say the words... Say them. Tell him..._

"Tauriel confronted me. She accused me of not caring about what would happen to the Dwarves. I reacted…badly, to her, and my son, Legolas, intervened."

He paused to take yet another breath, another drink, another effort to keep his scars hidden. "The look on his face burns in my memory... Mithrandir was witness to this and…forced me to see reason.

"I rescinded the order to retreat, we rejoined the Battle, and fought on, until after the Eagles came, and we were victorious." Thranduil gave a hollow laugh. _"'Victorious?'_ Such a profane word, is it not?"

He mustered his courage, and looked into the Bowman's soft eyes. "Please, believe me," he pleaded, "I truly _never_ wished ill upon your people."

There was nothing more to say. He fell against the back of his chair, drained beyond words. Thranduil held his breath, studied his fingers, and steeled himself for the barrage of anger he feared would come.

The tent was quiet for several long moments, then—

"Thank you for your honesty," Bard said quietly. "We all have grievous moments that follow us, both awake and in our dreams. I've had to deal with this, too. You're right; I'll be haunted by memories of the Dragon, and Battle, for the rest of my days. I can't imagine what it was like, to fight for years on end, right before Sauron himself. I've heard tales of that War since boyhood, and I don't think I'm in any position to judge you."

Bard added, with sympathy, "I'm so sorry you lost your father, Thranduil."

His head jerked up in surprise. The Bowman's face was still grim, but there was understanding and forgiveness there, as well. The Elvenking's eyes began to sting and fill, and he blinked rapidly, unable to speak.

"I think it best this stay just between us," Bard said gently. "No one else will know, at least for my part."

When the Bowman said those words, Thranduil was sure of his instincts about the man. Bard will be a fair and just King, but in this moment, he was thankful for his understanding as a friend.

 _As a friend…_ Something deep inside Thranduil stirred, as he gazed across the table at this Bowman with a strong face, and kind, intelligent eyes.

A slow, grateful smile crept across his face and lightened his heart. "Thank you, Bard," he murmured. "This means a great deal to me."

"Now, how about scaring us up something to eat?" Bard asked, the corner of his mouth tugging upwards. "We'd best get started with these 'Kinging' lessons and there's a lot to do."

Thranduil burst into relieved laughter, sent for Galion to prepare their meal, and they began their work for the day.

 **ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:**

 _Ai Belain!_ – Oh Valar!


	4. Chapter 4

13

 **Chapter Four**

Bard left Thranduil's tent in the early evening, and headed for his family's tent, in a thoughtful mood.

~o0o~

Once Thranduil had finished with explanations, they had a good lunch and tried to get to work, but things were a bit difficult for a while - he had drunk more than was good for him. That stuff was made to be strong for Elves, not a poor, overwhelmed Bowman who just had a Kingship dropped upon him!

He was still in shock over the idea that he was King. Thranduil tried to help, but perhaps the wine helped a bit more.

"I can't be a King like you, Thranduil!" He said at first. Well, he sort of yelled it at first. The effects of the wine, made his voice a bit louder and more forceful than normal.

"No, you will not. You can never be a King like me." Was the Thranduil's reply.

Arrogant git, he thought, which, apparently was said out loud, because the elf raised his hand in protest.

"No, no, Bard, you misunderstand me," Thranduil said, patiently. "Please comprehend my meaning. I am a King of Elves. I know how to rule my own kingdom, because I know my people, and the land that is my home. I know what both require of me.

"You are a King of Men, and that is a different situation entirely. You live differently, and have needs and attributes unique to your race. Many of the principles of ruling are the same, though. I am confident you will be an effective King, because of what makes you an effective leader. You already know your people. It is more than just being one of them, Bard. You know the stories of almost everyone from Laketown, do you not? You know their families, their struggles, their strengths; all because you had taken the time to learn them. You did this because you wished to, not because you had to. This is the quality that makes you an excellent King: a genuine interest in the lives of your subjects. You love them.

"In the same way, I know my people. I make it my business to be aware of the suffering of a single Elf, as much as I wish to know about my people as a whole. I believe you will continue to do this, but please, never take the effort for granted. Many rulers become lax, under the weight of responsibility, and slowly stop listening. The result is a weakened Kingdom that is now vulnerable and will be overtaken by outside forces. A King must serve, not just be served. You can only gain and keep their loyalty if they are sure you truly love and understand them."

Bard was no politician, and he balked at the idea of Kingship. He remembered the Master, who had been very political man. The only serving he did, was to himself, and he kept their people poor, hungry, and uneducated. He could never do that, he could never be that.

By the end of his meeting with Thranduil, he understood why he needed to be the King of Dale, of his people. Not because of his heritage, but because there was no one else Bard would fully trust with their welfare. Especially not after all they had been through, with the Master. He had hated Laketown. He had hated the Master even more, because of his greed, his selfishness and all his lies. But he truly loved the people. His people. Had he not been their leader, he would still do his utmost for them. He'd been doing so for years, when the Master had been alive.

Now, he was their King, which meant he'll have the power to benefit them, in ways they never imagined possible. The people believed in Bard, even when he was too blind to see. They knew he could help, and, now he did too. Bard will always detest politics, but perhaps that's the best reason he could be a good King.

The food at midday helped to sober him after all that wine, and he stayed with water and tea, for the rest of the day. After lunch, he and Thranduil got right down to business; there was so much to be done. Several messengers waited by the King's tent, to see to urgent matters that needed to be taken care of.

The Laketown children were placed safely away from all the gruesome tasks of cleanup. Thranduil, upon hearing Bard's concern, sent for Galion, ordering him to have this in place by the end of the day. The Aide was to coordinate with Lady Hilda, and left them to work out the details. The Elvenking was confident it would be done within a few hours. Elves adored children, and Feren had mentioned to Thranduil that several of his troops expressed concern for the orphans.

Some of Orcs' bodies continued to be burned, far away from the city, to avoid noxious fumes. The bodies of the Trolls were being dragged away with the help of the horses, and dumped into the tunnels dug by the Were-Worms, along with all the Orc bodies they could manage. Gandalf, the Eagles, and the Dwarves were working together to fill the tunnels as quickly as possible. Once done, Gandalf would place spells on the entrances, to prevent further attacks. Several troops of Elves and Dwarves were busy scouring the surrounding area, for any straggling Orcs and Wargs,

Thranduil had already arranged for the all armor and weapons to be salvaged. Most of that will be taken by Dale, to help with replenishing the armory and forged into building and living materials, such as kettles, plows, etc. Later meetings with the Dwarves will hopefully result in the setup of some forges, as well, so the Dale blacksmiths can get to work. Bard wasn't sure if or how many smithies had survived, but he planned to ask the Dwarves to provide some, if need be, even to help train apprentices. It was common knowledge by now, that the new King Under the Mountain was Dáin of the Iron Hills. He will be officially crowned after the Thorin and his nephews' funeral, which will take place the day after the ceremony in Dale - five days from now.

Bard had asked Thranduil for some plain, white cloth to drape the bodies of the dead of Laketown, to give them dignity. Thranduil ordered some from the Woodland Realm, to be delivered immediately, the burials will start tomorrow morning. The dead of Bard's people were being counted, and, as much as possible, identified. Since there was only a few men able to read and write, they were set to the task of making lists of their names, whose family they belonged to, and former occupation. Bard did not envy the men doing this; Bard didn't envy anything his men were doing today. War was a horrible business, and counting the costs in lives was agonizing, but there was nothing else to be done. Another messenger was sent, to recruit Elves who spoke and wrote in Westron, to aid in making the lists and offer support those who had to make identifications.

Bard also had to admit to the Elvenking, that he ordered any serviceable shoes, belts, buckles coats, etc. be salvaged from the dead, as there was so little clothing to go around. Thranduil was horrified. He understood the need, but he wanted to alleviate this if he was able. Elven soldiers could help with this gruesome task, should the Lakemen find it difficult, Thranduil offered. He also suggested these items should be offered to the families first, as keepsakes should they want them. If not, only then could they be given to someone else. Bard had agreed, so Thranduil a messenger was sent to inform Percy of the slight change in plan. There still wasn't enough warm clothing to go around, just blankets. Thranduil would supplement what clothing was still needed. He already sent for clothing, some tailors and much thick woolen fabric, for coats, slippers and cloaks, and they were on their way. The remaining Guild at the Woodland Realm were doing their best to craft clothing as fast as they could, and send them with supply carts.

Additional medicines and supplies were also on their way, along with more Elven Healers. Thranduil told Bard that most of the Dwarves that could be moved, were taken to Erebor to make use of their facilities, but Oin had remained, to oversee the care of the seriously wounded of his people. He and the Chief Healer had been introduced, and were working closely together. Smiling, Thranduil told him the Healers of all three races were wise enough to see Death is the only enemy worth fighting. Both Kings hoped this cooperative spirit would continue.

The next concern was the clean-up of all the blood from the stone streets of Dale. A plan was put into place, and a good one: once the streets were cleared of bodies and debris, carts would be brought in, full of soil and sand. This material will be scattered liberally along the streets of Dale, to absorb the blood, then swept back up into the carts, hoping to rid the city of the smell of death and decay. From that point, a good, long rain will be hoped for to cleanse the streets. This being winter, it was hard to say when that would happen, so they must do the best they can.

The dead animals that participated in the Battle were to be burned, and the bones ground up (the Dwarves hopefully would help provide equipment, or at least repair what there already was in Dale), to mix with the sand and soil that used in the streets. This soil will be plowed into the fields in the early spring, increasing their chances at a successful harvest. Bard had been uncertain of this, being a fisherman, not a farmer.

"You must have a good crop next year, Bard," he said. "This first several years will be crucial, if Dale is to survive. Once your people have been provided for, you can sell the rest of your crops, to buy more animals, whose manure will be used to fertilize the fields. This is not a sacrilege, Bard. The blood they spilled to save you, will be used to help bring life again. Was this not what they were fighting for? They helped to save Dale, and all the Northern Kingdoms. Their sacrifice can still help you, and they will be honored for it."

"That's a way to look at it," Bard said, after he considered Thranduil's words. "I want to have a remembrance service for my people next year, and this will be spoken of, when we honor the dead."

"That is an excellent idea."

Thranduil told him even the body of his Elk was to be burned, and his antlers carried back to his Palace. They will be mounted, and given a place of honor in his Halls, along with a plaque made to honor him, the other animals who fought in the Battle beside their Masters.

"I'm sorry you lost him, Thranduil; he was a magnificent animal. I saw how the two of you worked together to clear the causeway, and it was an unforgettable sight."

The Elvenking sighed. "I am sorry too. He served me well for many years, and I grieve his loss deeply. There will never be one like him again."

The white stallion Bard rode to Erebor, will stay, as a gift to Bard; Thranduil insisted upon it. "You will need a dependable steed, Bard, and you will find no better. I have another stallion, and he is currently on his way to me from home. Soon, we will be attending negotiations in Erebor, and you will need the transport. He will help you quickly oversee your city, as well. He is of noble stock and will serve and protect you. My only request is that I may continue to use him for stud purposes, as he is part of our breeding program. Many more horses will come to Dale; they are part of your life now. You are no longer Lakemen, Bard, you are people of the land, and you need horses, both to ride and for working the soil. Once you get your settlement from Erebor, we can speak about the purchasing of more of them in the spring. But the Stallion is yours to keep."

"What's his name?" Bard asked.

"'Fînlossen.' It means 'Snowy Mane,' in Westron."

"I like it. Thank you Thranduil. I'm not used to horses at all, but he seemed gentle and he makes me look like an expert rider, though I'm not."

"You are welcome, Bard. He liked you, as well; it was obvious. An Elven horse will never let his rider fall; you need never worry about that."

"How is he around children? Should I keep them away?"

"He is patient and friendly. Before the Battle, I saw him with several of your young. My Elk was the same, and he loved it when they brought him treats. You need not ever worry about this. But do not be fooled by your horse's gentle demeanor. When there is time, you must be trained to work with him in battle. He is fierce and frightening, when fighting off enemies, and he will give his life to protect you."

Bard sobered, "Then you've given me a great gift. I'm honored."

Thranduil smiled. "The King of Dale deserves nothing less. Now, let us move on to the next item..."

Tomorrow, they would arrange the details of the ceremonies to honor their dead. It was decided a joint funeral will be held, Men and Elves together, in the late morning, two days from now. The Dwarves will be invited, as he and Thranduil had been invited to Erebor the following day, to lay King Thorin and Princes Fili and Kili, to rest in their mountain tombs. Bard had learned of the Gold Sickness that overtook Thorin, and while it went a long way toward explaining things. He had to admire someone who could overcome something like that, and then, face down Azog the Defiler help win the Battle. It was a brave thing to do, and he and his heirs sacrificed their lives in the attempt. They deserved to be buried with honor.

A week after the ceremonies, negotiations for trade and reparations will begin between the three Northern Kingdoms. Bard wasn't looking forward to this at all. Thranduil had much more experience dealing with Dwarves, and he and Gandalf planned to help, as much as he could. Dáin, he said, was a tough negotiator, but, mostly a fair one. Thranduil told him he doubted he could be friendly with the Dwarf, but they could both benefit from mutual respect.

Bard smiled at this. It seemed the Elvenking didn't care to be called a "Pretty Princess." Come to think on it, Bard wasn't keen on he and his people being referred to as "Rabble." For his part, though, it was time to just let all that go and put it in the past. A grudge was a waste of time and energy, and Bard had nothing to spare right now, for such nonsense.

He was glad the air was cleared about what happened with Thranduil during the Battle. Bard was within his rights to demand an explanation from the Elf about their retreat, but he never expected the Elvenking to respond with such personal details. And yet, he was glad of it. Bard valued trust, above almost all things, and it didn't come easily to him, after years under the Master of Laketown. He needed to know, if Thranduil was someone Bard could truly rely on. Thranduil's complete honesty about his mistake did a great deal to earn that trust.

As Thranduil was speaking earlier of his flashes of memory from that War, his pain was hard to see. His voice had fallen to almost a whisper, and his face was miserable. Bard could swear he saw something waver on his left cheek, and was about to say something, but it was gone as soon as it started, so Bard blamed it on the effects of the wine. He'd no idea how to respond to the way the Elvenking had been affected by the War. It must have been terrifying, and he hoped Thranduil had faith in his promise to never reveal it to anyone. He also sympathized with him over the loss of his father; Thranduil obviously loved and admired him very much.

Bard felt the same way about his own father, and looked up to him, even now. Brand was a fisherman by trade, in partnership with Percy, until his knees started to hurt him. When he was forced to give it up, Brand gave his share of the business to his son. After that, he repaired nets, and just about anything that broke in Laketown. He was well-respected, and many looked to him for advice and help, if he could provide it. They were never rich, but Brand had quality and honor, and folks gravitated to him. Now, Bard understood how his lineage contributed to his father's bearing, and sense of justice. After he passed, many who had come to Brand with their troubles, looked to Bard.

When Brand passed away, in his sleep, Bard was devastated. It was his heart, they were told. There was some suspicion about this, because the Healer who declared his cause of death, was the Master's personal physician. Bard was never fully sure, but he was unable to provide proof. After the services, most of the town came to Bard's home to pay their respects (except for the Master, naturally). They told him many stories about his father, how kind and fair he had been, all the ways Brand had helped them with one thing or another. Many of those stories Bard had never heard, before. Learning all this was a comfort, but it also made his loss seem bigger and harder to bear. The best example Bard could follow as a King, would be the same that Thranduil used, when he began to rule his own Kingdom – their own fathers. It would be an honor to dedicate his tenure as King to the man who made Bard who he was.

As Bard walked through the ruins (followed by his guard) he couldn't stop wondering about Thranduil. The Elf had seemed impenetrable, untouchable, when they first met. He realized now that it was only a projection, and, on a deeper level, he could see the elf was lonely. Bard could see it, in his light grey eyes, while they talked today. The Elvenking had spend much of his life feeling set apart and alone, and it wasn't hard to see they both could benefit from a friendship of equals.

Bard was quickly learning that leadership can make one feel alone. He had his children, of course, and he loved them more than his own life, but his job was to protect and provide for them, not lean on them. As much as he cherished them, it's not the same as having a friend. Percy was this for Bard; had been for years. They were lucky to have Percy and Hilda; he loved them as family. They couldn't be more generous to him and the children, and he was supremely grateful. He had already decided he wanted them to hold key positions in the newly rebuilt Dale, and he knew they'd never let him down.

Percy and Hilda were friends and neighbors, but, now they would work for him, be accountable to him. They could never fully understand the stresses and strains that will come with being King. Only another king would know. It is a lonely position, and, when he thought about all the solitary years Thranduil had ruled, he felt compassion for him. He had heard his Queen died when Legolas was small, so, how long had the Elvenking been all by himself? It was hard to contemplate. Bard had seven years of loneliness to bear with, and they seemed an eternity. How much harder for someone like Thranduil?

His opinion of the Thranduil was much better than it was three-and-a-half weeks ago.

~o0o~

They did not have an auspicious beginning, when the Elf came to Dale. Thranduil was haughty and condescending, unused to being questioned or second-guessed. Bard supposed that, after centuries of every order being instantly obeyed, he'd been irritated that someone would sit across from him, demanding explanations. In the weeks before the battle, when it became obvious that the mere presence of an Elven army was not enough to intimidate thirteen Dwarves, Bard was forced to sit with him and discuss strategy.

During that time, Bard slowly changed his initial opinion. His own Da had told him once, to never yell back when a man shouts at you; answer him with whispers. "A good man will wait it out, and look behind all the noise." Brand had said. It was one of the many things the father instilled in his son, who did just that, and watched the Elf closely. The arrogance and iciness was an act. A good one, but still an act. As the days and weeks passed, while Bard and his men trained, and the refugee camp was organized, they met many times, and they reached a mutual understanding, and respect. There was much more to this Elvenking than attitude and bluster. What was under the surface, or "behind the noise," was not what he was expecting. There was a great intelligence, immense courage, but also a sadness, a vulnerability. He could see fear, as well.

The Elvenking may have had less than warm, friendly words for Bard, upon first entering Dale's ruins, but his actions revealed something quite the opposite. He had supplied food, blankets, tents, clothes and medicine, all geared to the needs of Men. There were extra fires to warm them, more outer clothing, extra meat for their diet, and more frequent meals than the Elves were normally used to.

Thranduil was surly, arrogant and, just plain snooty, when he rode into Dale on that creature with those massive antlers. He disliked the Elf, and hated that he had to depend on him. He thought the Elvenking pretentious, along with that great beast of his. Who else but the King of Elves would ride around one on of those gigantic brutes?

Later, during the Battle, Bard saw Thranduil astride that pretentious brute, racing across the bridge, at breakneck speed, to help save the people of Dale. Bard was awestruck to see exactly how that huge Elk served and protected its Master. The beast savagely scooped up Orcs with those huge, hooked antlers like they were flowers, with his Master slicing all their heads off at once. Again, and again, clearing off the bridge, they worked as one, dispensing with the Enemy, until a path was made into the city, for the Elves to come in. It was an unforgettable sight. In a way, it had been beautiful, to see such a communion between this animal and his King. He was genuinely sorry to hear that Elk had been killed. Those who bore witness to its death told him of the mighty Elven warrior, rolling off its body and exploding into action, a sword in each hand. With lightning speed, he had cut down an entire crowd of Orcs, almost effortlessly. Bard's men marveled at the sight of it.

Songs will be written about it, they said. He was sorry he missed seeing it.

~o0o~

There was no denying another fact, that often wormed its way into Bard's thoughts. Whether he was acting as a King or a Warrior, Thranduil was undeniably _stunning._ It was hard not to watch him; walking, speaking, riding, anything. He was truly beautiful. Bard's eyes followed him whenever he caught sight of him. It was impossible not to.

Bard shook his head, slightly, trying to clear his mind of such nonsense. There was so much to think about now; so much to be done to get this city ready for its people, and they deserved no less than his very best effort. He was fortunate that Thranduil was willing to help him with it.

His people were a unique group, and their varied ancestry was something that needed to be protected and preserved, no matter where they would call home. Laketown may have been a dump, but many people who made their home there came from other parts of Arda. Bard didn't believe there was a place anywhere else where this could be accomplished. They brought their values, their culture, and their talents with them. Laketown folk came in a variety of sizes, shapes and colors, and they all found a way to live together and mostly respect each other.

In a roundabout way, the Master was helpful in this regard. He was a terrible leader: greedy selfish, and unscrupulous. What would've driven many other folk apart, spurred the good citizens of Laketown to be closer. It galled the Master that they found ways to rely on each other and accept their differences in the face of a common obstacle. Even the Elves, before this, had turned away, and cut themselves off. Adversity only made Laketown folk more determined to work together. Bard was immensely proud of them all. This determination and the good work ethic were the reasons why he had confidence they could revive and rebuild Dale into a thriving Kingdom.

 _Kingdom..._

Bard actually has a Kingdom, now! He still couldn't grasp the idea of it. The image of Bard the Bargeman, with a crown on his head seemed ridiculous! But as he digested the all Elvenking's, words, they made sense. He would help his people best, if he were crowned King. It was the only reason he could accept this position. Talk of his heritage meant little to him. If Bard truly believed being King of Dale wouldn't benefit his people, nothing would make him go through with it. But, it was, and if this is the way it had to be done, then he'll just to toss some gold and jewels on his head, square his shoulders, and do it.

 _Stop thinking on it,_ he told himself. _Shut up and get on with it._

Thranduil was going to be helpful, because he wanted to see the Bowman be crowned King of Dale, but there was more to it than that. Bard sensed Thranduil genuinely _liked_ and respected him as a person. This meant something, because Bard was surprised to find he genuinely _liked_ him back.

There could be no other reason why the Elvenking could speak to Bard about such personal things. The struggle Thranduil was going through, to talk about his haunting memories, and Bard knew, he was being honored with them. Being no stranger to profound heartache, Bard tried to do for the Elf what Percy had done for him. He offered a quiet, listening ear without judgement. He'd never be happy about that order to retreat, but he could understand it better. When Bard offered Thranduil his forgiveness, the Elvenking's gratitude showed in his eyes and he sat up a bit straighter. They were becoming friends, and it was a good thing.

"Da! Da!" came the cries before Bard could finish his musings.

Bain and Sigrid were running up to see him, Tauriel was walking behind them, with Tilda on her hip. Bodies ran into him, and arms went about his waist. Two young voices continued, talking over each other, eager to tell him about their adventures:

"Da! We went exploring down to the river and back, and Tauriel told us all kinds of stuff about the plants and the trees and the birds!" Bain was always the excited one. "She's really smart. She told us about how big the trees are where she lives. She even showed us how fast she can climb 'em, and we just stood and watched, and she just jumped through them. It was amazing! I'd love to see Mirkwood. Can we go? And OH! And Bofur knows lots of silly songs, too. He's funny!"

Bard laughed, and it struck him how good it felt. Weeks ago, they all had been on the brink of starvation, and then just yesterday, they all could have died.

Now, he saw Sigrid and Bain's rosy cheeks, and brighter eyes. And, they were smiling. Thank Ulmo, they were smiling. This was just a start, but perhaps they could recover from the unspeakable things they'd seen. Tilda, however, hanging on to Tauriel, still wasn't speaking, wasn't smiling. She was going to have a tougher road, he could see, and made his heart ache. Her cheeks were a healthy pink, though, and she seemed comfortable with the red-haired Elf; that was encouraging.

Tauriel, herself, was missing her Dwarf, and although she was stoic, it was easy to see her pain, for those who knew to look for it. It seemed true that she and the children would be good for each other. Thranduil had told him as much, when he informed Bard he had assigned Tauriel as their main caregiver and guard. Her duties included their personal care needs, as well as their safety, along with at least one guard whenever they ventured outside the camp. Seeing them together, Thranduil's words made sense. Another example of how Thranduil was looking out for him.

"Oi, Bain! Slow down so I can understand you, yeah?" Bard gave both Sigrid and Bain a big hug, and as they continued to regale him with what they had seen and done. Any other time, those things would sound ordinary and uninteresting, but, after facing horror and possible death, ordinary things such as a tree, or a pretty bird, anything held beauty. The children, and hopefully Tauriel, were finding comfort in these simple things.

When they finally stopped, Bard walked over to Tilda and Tauriel. "Hello, Little Bean, did you see anything exciting today? Did you miss your old Da?" Tilda didn't really respond. He took her from Tauriel's arms and held her to him, and she laid her head on his shoulder. She wasn't smiling or frowning, and she wasn't really meeting Bard's gaze. Tauriel seemed a bit reluctant to let her go, but she stood quietly, with Sigrid and Bain.

"I appreciate what you're doing for my little Sea-Monsters."

"Da-a!" A cry of protest was heard from Sigrid, at the nickname.

"Did they behave for you?" Bard asked Tauriel.

"Yes, My Lord. They are good children and they enjoyed themselves." A reserved smile was on Tauriel's face. "We stopped by a grove of trees for their midday meal, then spent some time by the Lake."

"Glad to hear it. And I insist you call me Bard." He sent a sidelong look at his guard. "Tauriel, you saved my children's lives more than once, and I can't thank you enough. They're the reason I get up in the morning. You're family now, and you'll not be using highfalutin' titles with me."

Tauriel was taken aback, but she seemed pleased at Bard's gratitude. "Thank you, Lord Bard, but I must show deference to you, especially when others are present. My King will be displeased."

"If Thranduil objects to this, you tell him I commanded you, and he can speak to me about it. I will not make someone who has done so much for us, be so formal. Besides, it wouldn't be good for the children to start calling them 'Lord-and-Lady-This-or-That' all the time. I mean it. If you're going to be in charge of them, they need to see you as the authority; and will defer to you. I won't have them put on fancy airs. In private, I am just Bard, and you will never use titles for the children, except during formal ceremonies. And you are NOT to spoil them, understand?" Bard said to her with a kind, but firm smile.

"I enjoy being with your children; it is my pleasure to look after them." The red-haired Elf seemed to feel more at ease, and this time, she really did smile.

Bard gave Tilda a loud kiss on the cheek, then put her down to gently nudge her in the direction of her brother and sister. He then spoke, his voice lowered. "Speaking of children, arrangements are being made to keep all the children out of the city during the daylight hours. I'd appreciate it, if you'd make sure my little ones spend as much time as they can with there. I think it will help them get past all this. But watch Tilda carefully; if you think the noise and activity is too much for her just yet, let me know, and we'll deal with that."

He didn't need to elaborate; Tauriel understood. "How was Tilda today? Did she speak at all?"

"Just a few words, My Lord."

"Just Bard, please, remember"

"But we are not in private. I cannot."

He rolled his eyes. "Okay, fine. Tell me how she was."

"She spoke a word or two occasionally. She did not seem fully aware of her surroundings, but she did relax a bit when we stopped near the trees at midday. She walked quite a bit today - I only carried her when I saw she was getting tired."

"Clever idea. The exercise will do her good. I hear one of the Dwarves went along."

"Yes. The children remembered Master Bofur from Laketown, and they were glad to see him. He had come from Erebor to make sure I was all right." she looked down and swallowed. "I hope you did not mind he came along with us."

"Did it help you to see him, Tauriel? I'm worried about you, too." Bard asked gently, and put his hand on her shoulder.

She looked at him, surprised. "Yes, a little," she whispered.

"Then I'm glad. He's a friend to you, Tauriel. If he helps you, and the children, then I'm all for it. I want you to feel better, too." He smiled at her.

Tauriel seemed grateful, but quickly changed the subject. "Lord Bai - my apologies - Bain and Sigrid were quite excited to see Master Bofur. However, I believe Tilda was reminded of the Orc attack at seeing him, and she clung to me rather tightly at first. By the afternoon, she was more comfortable around him, and even held his hand a little. He sang them some songs while they ate, which she seemed to like. Bofur told me he is determined to see her better."

Bard gave a sigh of relief. "Wonderful to hear. It's a start, then. She's got a way to go yet; they all do, but I have to hope she'll be her sweet little self again soon."

"That is also my hope. They are good, brave children, and I like them very much."

"I've got to ask, you: How in the world did you get the children into bed last night, and up the next morning, without me even knowing about it? I didn't hear a thing! They're usually noisy as a thunderstorm, and I've always been a light sleeper."

"I do not know. I urged them to be as quiet as possible as they washed and dressed, and they did their best. You were sleeping quite deeply, and did not stir."

Tauriel looked at him like she knew something, but he couldn't guess what it could be. He decided it was just his imagination. "It's just as well. I didn't know I needed the sleep, until I had a good, long night of it. It felt wonderful, to tell you the truth."

Bard looked to the children, who were standing next to his guard, asking him questions. The soldier, while keeping a sharp eye on their surroundings, answered them with gentle courtesy. The Elf liked them. He possibly even liked Bard.

 _Hmmm..._

"What do you think, Monsters? Do you want your supper at the food tent, or do you want to go back to our quarters?"

"I want food," said Bain. Of course, he did. "But I'm tired, too. Can we eat in our tent?" The others seemed agreeable, Tilda nodded yes. Makes sense; a crowd of people may not be the best thing for her. Bard reached down to pick up his youngest again, stroking her hair.

"That sounds fine. But first, do you want to go see Auntie Hil and say a quick hello?" Bard looked at Tilda, giving her nose a little boop, "And you know she always has a hug and kiss just for her Beanie; what do you think, darling?"

Tilda's eyes brightened a bit and she nodded her head. Good. Hilda will be a help to get his little one back to herself. He also wanted to talk with her about holding meetings in the mornings, right after the children have gone for the day.

"Alrighty then, let's go! Come on, Tauriel, you too!" Bard turned to the guard. "When we get back to our tent, could you send someone to scare us up our supper?"

"Of course, My Lord. It would be my pleasure, My Lord."

The Bowman squinted at him. "There's no need to be sarcastic, you know."

"My deepest apologies, My Lord." The guard smiled at him.

Bard narrowed his eyes at the Elven Guard. "Have it your way, then. You may not be invited to drop my title," he informed him, with a crook of an eyebrow.

"I would never think to do otherwise, My Lord." His guard kept a straight face, but the corner of his mouth tugged up ever so slightly.

Bard might just learn to like this elf.

ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:

 _Fînlossen –_ "Snowy Mane" the white stallion Thranduil gave to Bard.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

 **Ruins of Dale; 24th of November, 2941 T.A.**

After Bard left his tent, Thranduil heard progress reports from Galion and Feren as to the removal of the Enemy from Dale's streets and the field, the cleanup on the city streets and other matters. Overall, he was pleased, his top staff were doing their best to keep things well-organized and at a rapid pace.

When they left, he sat on his temporary throne and closed his eyes, to have a few moments of quiet. He was weary and drained, but not in a detrimental way. He and Bard accomplished much during their first meeting as Kings, not the least of which, establishing their relationship; personal as well as formal. He was tired, but it was a good type of fatigue.

He was surprised at how he felt after unburdening himself to Bard. It had been arduous and difficult; Thranduil had hardly ever revealed himself, save with his wife, or, when he first returned from the War of the Last Alliance, with Galion, occasionally. Then his wife was gone, and Galion was left, but theirs was a relationship of King and Servant, and boundaries were not so easily crossed.

Only twice has Galion taken the risk of overstepping his authority, both times for good reason.

Sadly, only once, did it really serve to change things.

~o0o~

The first time was when Thranduil was brought to his father's body on the battlefield at Dagorland, and collapsed in grief. Galion, crying himself, threw his arms about Thranduil as they both gave into their tears. Galion was just as bereft as King Oropher's son; he had lost a King and friend that he loved and had devoted almost his whole life to.

For thousands of years, Galion's days had been spent by his King's side, and when he was killed, it seemed like a part of him had been ripped away. The Chief Aide grieved, almost like a lover would. Thranduil had wondered, more than once, if Galion had been in love with his father. If he was, there was no evidence of it, except his unwavering devotion. His mother and father truly loved each other, and their bond was unyielding. Oropher did depend on his Chief Aide - almost constantly - but there was no mistaking that his Queen held his heart. Still, that wouldn't prevent one from loving the object of his affection, even if unrequited. The heart always wants what it wants, and there is little choice to be had in these matters. If Thranduil's suspicions were correct, then his heart truly went out to him.

When King Oropher was killed, the Aide was, for a brief time, inconsolable, as was Thranduil. Galion had rallied first, being older and more experienced. Then he said and did whatever was necessary to motivate, the young King as quickly as possible, to carry on the leadership of the Army of the Woodland Realm.

The new King hesitated; he wasn't ready! Galion wouldn't let him balk, and demanded he think of his men. King Oropher wouldn't have tolerated them being leaderless, whether Thranduil wished it or not. "Grieving will have to wait for the proper time," he told him. "Your men's lives are at stake now, Thranduil, and they need you!" Even then, Thranduil couldn't bring himself to step into the role. As a last resort, Galion angrily demanded that he do his duty. "Too many of our people have died, and I will not see you cause more pointless death because you hesitate to take your rightful place!" he shouted. "GO, My Lord. Do it! NOW!" And he bodily shoved him forward, and closed the tent flap after him, giving him no choice but to face his new role, his new title, and defend and protect the people his father loved.

And he did. It had seemed cruel at the time, but Thranduil later realized, Galion had done was exactly what was needed. Taking over leadership so suddenly was an overwhelming task, but from the moment Galion pushed him forward, he held on to his side, never once letting go of him. Thranduil did not lead that Army all on his own; hardly anyone realized the credit wasn't just Thranduil's. The remainder of the Elves that did return, should be as grateful to Galion as they were to Thranduil for their survival. He has tried to tell Galion this, but his Aide won't hear of it. The Woodland Realm was only what it was today, because of what Galion has done in service to his King.

The second time Galion lost his temper with his King was after the death of his wife.

Again, Thranduil was inconsolable.

But, that time, he did not rally.

When he first returned to Woodland Realm after the horrors of Mordor, to reluctantly take his father's place, he told himself there was no time for him to grieve; so much needed to be taken care of. Thranduil had shut down, stuffed it down, and hid behind the walls surrounding his heart, like he had for countless years.

Some centuries after his return, he met and married his wife, Mírelen, and loved her with a depth he didn't know he possessed. When she came into his life, his heart slowly opened and began to heal, and it had changed him. It was bliss to hold her in his arms at night, whether to merely sleep, or in the throes of passion. She was always eager for him, and he could never get enough of her; her touches, her kisses, her skin, her hands, her breasts, her dark hair splayed out on the pillow as he was above her, bringing them both to completion, rejoicing in each other. The first time he entered her, on their wedding day, as he came inside of her hot, wet heat, as their fëas became one, Thranduil learned what a true home was. It was her. Thranduil's home was in her heart, her mind, her thoughts, her laugh, and her body. Mírelen was home to him like nothing else had ever been.

He felt unbridled joy at the birth of their son. Legolas was born with his father's hair and eyes, but his face was the image of his mother. His smile was hers, his hands were hers, his mannerisms were all hers! He marveled at everything his little Leaf did. When the little Prince of the Woodland Realm took his first steps, his proud father ordered a feast, to celebrate. Another feast was held to celebrate his first word: Ada. He loved watched his wife with their son, and often poked his head out of his study, to see her chase after him, because soon after walking, Legolas had decided he much preferred running. His parents and his guards could hardly keep up with him. They played hiding games with him, and loved singing him to sleep when he finally, finally tired himself out, at the end of the day. Legolas's favorite game was to hide under the blankets on their big bed, and jump out to scare his mother. Mirelen would "squeal" with fright, and Thranduil would bravely fight the "monster" to defend his fair lady.

His family had brought joy to his life, and his people loved to watch them together.

Thranduil had always taken a tour of the villages in his Kingdom to assess what they might need before winter. He used that time to examine his forest, and make sure the trees and animals were healthy and happy. He would stop, close his eyes and listen to their song, telling him of their year. He loved this communion with them. This was a gift, given to him and to all Woodland Elves, although it was most powerful in its King.

Thranduil was also given the gift of foresight by the Valar. It often helped him with predictions for his people as a whole; to prepare for famines, bitter winters, overly harsh weather, and the like. Sometimes he'd meet with an individual, and be granted such insight. It often helped him, but he was careful about sharing what he'd learned.

When new children were born in his Kingdom, their parents would come to the Palace to present their King with his new subject, so he could declare the child's name and receive his blessing. Occasionally, he was able to see into the baby's future. No one knew this except Galion, who had quickly advised him to never reveal such things to the parents, as it could be problematic. Each Elfling was cherished and special, he did not want to cause a rift between the ones with which the Valar granted him sight, and the ones that they did not. Thranduil thanked his Aide several times for this wisdom - his people were peaceful, but nothing could stir up strong emotion like proud or jealous parents.

After his marriage, Mírelen insisted on going these tours with him. "I am not just your wife now, Meleth nin." She insisted. "I am Queen of your people. I want them to know me, and to serve them, as you do. Please?" She put her arms around his neck and smiled up at him, with those velvet brown eyes, and long, long lashes. He brushed her cheek with the back of his hand, and kissed her nose, and agreed to bring her. She was so lovely and wonderful; he could deny her nothing.

Stars, she was so beautiful! Her heart was beautiful, too. She worked hard to learn about her country and to become a good Queen, and loved her people only a little less than she loved her husband and son. Each year after their marriage, she accompanied Thranduil on his Autumn Tour, and heart would nearly burst with pride, as he watched all the villagers gather around her. She smiled brightly when she spoke with them, especially the children, and fussed over all the new babies.

Mírelen approached these trips differently than Thranduil had, before he married her. He'd normally ride in, have a meal and meet with village leaders, to go over the year, and speak of things that they needed. He'd smile and wave at his subjects, and be off a short time later with a list of things they'd need. It wasn't unfriendly, but he tended to get right to the business of why he was there.

The first year he took his wife, things changed. While he was in meetings, she made a point to learn the names of Elves who lived in the villages, and their families. She listened to their stories, and wanted to know about their lives. Mirelen had a way of making everyone feel important, be it a ruler from another realm, or the woman who washed and repaired their clothes in the Palace. In turn, his people grew to love their Queen, almost as much as her husband did. Thranduil would tease her about it, thanking her for allowing him the honor of accompanying her, while his subjects threw themselves at her feet.

After Legolas was born, their son was too small to be taken on such a trip, so Mírelen stayed home. His subjects didn't mind; they were too excited at the arrival of their tiny new Prince to mind her absence. He continually answered their questions about his son, and was presented with many, many gifts for him; hand-knitted clothing and blankets, tiny hand-crafted toys, and countless well-wishes. Wherever he went, glasses were filled to drink to the Legoas' health.

As soon as Mírelen deemed him old enough, Legoas accompanied his parents on this tour, so his people could finally meet their little blond Prince. And oh, was he fussed over! It seemed hardly possible to love his wife and son more, as he watched his Queen face as she showed off their son, like any proud parent would. Occasionally she'd look up and their eyes would meet, so full of love for him, and for the life he'd given her, here in the Woodland Realm.

From her first tour with him, Mírelen proved to be useful, helping Thranduil address issues hadn't thought of, such as encouraging more education for the children, and seeing that the vulnerable were treated well. She also shared news from other realms, and told them helpful things she'd learned, such as new ways of making soaps, different ways to cook and flavor foods, new medicinal discoveries, etc. She was always looking for ways to improve their daily lives, and they appreciated her efforts. If there were disputes and justice issues, she would sit by his side and share her thoughts on the best course of action. He was grateful for this too, as Mírelen was gifted with perception that could discern lies. She also suggested creative ways to solve problems.

It was the happiest time of his life. He looked to the future, to see what life with her would bring him, but no vision came to him. He wasn't alarmed. Images and insights like that almost always came to him unbidden. He took it as a sign that there was nothing to be alarmed about.

One day, when they were returning from their Autumn tour, Thranduil's gift of foresight failed him, in the worst possible way.

They were riding through the forest with their guards. Legolas, only eleven years old, was sitting in front of Mírelen on her dark horse, sleeping. Thranduil was astride his elk, listening to her singing to help keep their son relaxed, when, suddenly, Thranduil raised his hand to her and ordered silence. He sat still on the Elk, and listening to the trees, who were crying out in alarm. Quickly, he ordered three guards to surround the Queen and his son. The instant they'd done this, a pack of Orcs appeared ahead of them. Thranduil charged with his soldiers into the skirmish, trying to keep them away from his family. What he didn't know was that some Orcs had come from the opposite direction while they had been distracted. This pack took the Queen and little Prince by surprise. After killing her guards, one pulled Mírelen and Legolas off her horse, and she stabbed it with her knife to protect her son, while she screamed for her husband.

Thranduil felt her terror, before he heard her, and he swiftly turned the Elk around and charged toward her, screaming out her name. It was as if time was slowing down, and all sound was gone, except for the blood pounding in his heart as he raced to her. The Orc had grabbed her by her dark hair, then raised his sword to slay his wife, who was crouched, hiding her son, and desperately screaming for help. Thranduil leapt off the Elk, jumping those last several yards, and sent the Orc's head flying with a mighty roar. But it was too late. Just a second too late. There she lay, blood gushing from the deep wound on her neck. He quickly lifted her up, turned her over, and found his son who was unharmed, but terrified. Feren was at Thranduil's side, and instantly took the little Prince in his arms, and took him away from the horrific sight, spoke to him in a low, soothing tones, and tried to shush toddler's shrieks of terror.

Thranduil held his beloved Mírelen, and said her name over and over, begging her not to leave him, pressing onto her wound, trying to stop the bleeding. She looked into his eyes, unable to speak, as the life drained out of her. Through their bond, he felt her tell him she loved him, and made him promise to look after their son and their people one. Gradually, her eyes lost their focus, and her face lost all its color. She looked at him, lifeless, just like his own father had done, on the field at Dagorland. It was the same unseeing gaze, and it was unspeakable to behold. This couldn't be real; it couldn't be happening. He buried his face in her dark hair, and sobbed, telling her over and over how sorry he was that he didn't save her.

He screamed in agony when the Rista-Goeol began, that Terrible Severing, when her part of their shared fëa left Middle Earth forever, leaving him utterly broken inside. Thranduil was in too much anguish to notice that Feren ordered the soldiers to form a protective circle, facing outward, so their King could be given time, privacy and safety.

Feren had taken the Prince a short distance away, so he couldn't see his naneth. He was trying to calm Legolas by rubbing his back and whispering to him, but it didn't help. The little ellon could still hear his Ada's frightening screams of grief, so Feren put him under a sleeping spell, to spare him. It had helped Legolas, but now there was nothing to drown out the sound of his King's agony, Feren couldn't stop his own tears any longer. His best friend was in agony, and the Queen they all loved, was dead. As Legolas slept on his shoulder, Feren wept bitterly, and Dior, his First Lieutenant, arranged for litters to carry the dead to the Palace.

When Thranduil was able to open his eyes again, he saw his wife's broken necklace on the ground. It had been a gift for her Begetting Day, the year of Legolas's birth. The jewels had reminded him of her; sparkling in the light, pure, and white, just like the stars they loved to watch together. In a daze, Thranduil had picked up the pieces of the necklace and stared at them for several minutes, still crying. The audacity of these stones to shine so brightly in their mithril settings, while covered in her blood seemed profane; sacrilegious. Yet they still glittered happily, unaware of the devastation that surrounded them.

He placed the broken pieces of the Gems of Lasgalen in his pocket and stumbled toward his elk, who waited patiently for him. He threw his arms around the animal's neck, hiding his face in the warm, clean fur. The animal, feeling his sorrow, turned his head toward him, nuzzling his back, offering what comfort he could, snuffling his sorrow to the Elvenking. Thranduil heard all the trees weeping, their branches lowered to show respect and sympathy. He heard the cries from the animals in the forest, as they too, tried to offer him comfort.

Thranduil turned from his Elk's neck back towards the scene, and observed Dior approach his wife with one of the litters and set it down beside her. With quick movements, he removed his scarlet cape and used it as a soft bedding for the Queen to lie on and gently picked her up and placed her on it. In sad fascination, he watched the Lieutenant remove the gauntlet and vambrace from one of his arms, then tear off the sleeve of his tunic underneath. Dior was shedding his own tears as he got down on one knee to wrap the cloth around around her neck and cover the jagged wound. Then he walked over to his King and held out his hand.

"I need your cape, my King."

"My cape?"

"Yes, My Lord. I know you will want it to be yours."

Bemused, Thranduil's fingers fumbled at the fastenings.

The Lieutenant stepped forward to help. "Here, My Lord," he said gently. "Let me help." Soon the shimmering garment was removed.

When the Elvenking saw him draped the heavy cape over the body of his wife, he understood. "Thank you, Lieutenant." He said. Dior met his gaze and nodded. No words could offer comfort, and Thranduil was grateful he didn't try. Dior helped Thranduil get settled in the saddle, while Feren put Legolas in front of him, then the group began their journey to bring the Queen of the Woodland Ream, and the bodies of her brave guards, home for the final time.

That day had been the last time Thranduil had truly wept for anything; it had been the last time Thranduil had truly felt anything.

Back then, the depth of his grief had tried its best to kill him; wanting to fade him into nothingness. But promises he had made to his wife, had to be honored. She wanted him survive and go on, whatever it takes. For their son. For their Kingdom.

Once again, just as with his father, he pushed away the grief; pushed away everything that threatened his distance from all the sorrow. He told himself the same lies: he had no time for this now, too much had to be done, too many people were depending upon him. Whatever he needed to say to himself, he did, in order to stay alive, and stay with Middle Earth. Too many were looking to him to be a strong, confident leader. No weakness could be shown, he kept telling himself. Ever.

For months, he walked the corridors of his Halls like a living ghost, he carried out his duties, but was never quite present. He was trying, he truthfully was trying. Mírelen's voice was ringing through his head, saying over and over, "You promised me you won't fade. You cannot. You must be here for our son. You must. You cannot leave him alone."

It was taking all his energy to keep that promise. He kept busy, by increasing his sparring and archery schedule, and anything that kept him in motion. He never stopped moving, only sleeping when he was so exhausted, his eyes would close the moment they hit his pillow. Their bed, a wedding gift from her parents, was too painful to sleep in. It smelled too much like her, and it hurt to feel the dip in the mattress where she used to sleep, to see her pillows, and all of her things on her bedside table. Instead, he used a one of the couches in the living room of their chambers. Eventually, Galion told him he couldn't sleep on the couch indefinitely, and suggested replacing the bed with another.

He allowed Galion to have it removed, stored for Legolas, and gave his Aide free reign as to its replacement. He couldn't make himself care about it. To Galion's credit, he replaced all the furniture in the bedchamber, so what appeared in his bedchambers was much different than its former occupant, and the linens had also been replaced with ones of differing colors and designs. It did help. Eventually, Thranduil moved in there, and he became used to it, gradually feeling comfortable in it.

In time, Thranduil did grow stronger, and needed less of a frantic effort to stay in this world. But he still couldn't fully engage with his son. He wanted to; he truly did, but his little Leaf so looked like his mother. He saw her in everything the young Elfling did, like he always did, and it would send him spiraling into despair. Legolas would look up at his father, with his eyes and hair, but with Mírelen's face, and it would stab his heart. What he had once found such joy in, he now found misery. He despised himself for feeling this way, but he didn't know how to stop. He couldn't even speak of her to his son. He couldn't hear her name spoken anywhere. He ordered that all her things be removed from the Palace, and her name never be spoken, so Thranduil could just get through the days.

Of course, he didn't banish Legolas from his presence. He'd never do that, but when Legolas did come into his study or his chambers with his caregiver, he would, after a several minutes, send him on his way. He never sent for him. He was avoiding the child.

And that was the second time that Galion stepped in and ignored the boundaries of King and Aide. This was not good for either father or son, and he couldn't allow it to continue.

"You need each other," he told the King in a firm, angry voice. "That child needs you and you need to see him, really see him with your whole heart, My Lord! If you think pushing that little boy away will mend your heart or your fëa, you are mistaken! Legolas adores you. The joy in his face every time he sees you, every time he wants to crawl into your lap is a wondrous thing, if you would only allow yourself to look at him and see it! Is this what your wife would have wanted for her son? Is this what she would have wanted for you?"

"STOP!" Thranduil roared, jumping up from the stuffed chair in his quarters, throwing his glass goblet against the stone wall, shattering it to pieces, leaving a large, dark red stain. "You will not DARE presume to tell ME what to do with my own son! YOU WILL NEVER AGAIN try to tell ME what my wife would or would not want! You do NOT know what it's like to lose someone you loved!" He roared.

Galion stood there, frozen in frustration, and deeply hurt.

Then Thranduil closed his eyes, panting, his breaths quick and shallow. "You do not know," he finally said, his voice in a rough whisper.

"I know you have lost a great love. We all loved the Queen. But you still have a great love, if you would only allow yourself... Please, My Lord. Please." Galion's tears threatened to run down his face. The King's rebuke stung, but his purpose was too important.

Thranduil's face was in his shaking hands, and he sat down, again. "I…cannot," he whispered. "I just…cannot, Galion. When I see him, I feel such guilt for not saving his mother. I failed them both, and now she's gone. I look into his face, and I see…" he didn't finish. "I know he deserves better than this, but I cannot help seeing…her face…and all that blood… I am afraid of the hurt. She made me promise, not to fade, and I am barely hanging on! I failed her in the worst way possible, and I cannot do so again... I am so frightened…" His words were barely audible, but somehow Galion managed to understand what he was saying.

He sat down beside Thranduil. "You did everything you possibly could to save her, Thranduil. You could not have failed her. I am sorry for your terrible loss, My Lord," he said gently. "But, it is not healthy that you never speak of it. Perhaps it was not helpful to remove all memories of her. You have avoided fading, and you are stronger now, but please, Sire, you must learn to live again. Not just for Legolas's sake, not for your Kingdom's sake, but for your own. Please, please, don't hide from your grief."

Thranduil tried, he really did, but he just couldn't open up. He continued to hide, and there was little to be done about it.

After that evening, Galion found the time to take a special interest in the Elfling, stepping in where his father could not. Legolas continued to grow, and learned to look to Galion and his caregivers for what he needed. Eventually, his son turned to Galion more and more, he stopped seeking out his father altogether.

When he was a young adult, already a member of the Guard, a tiny, red-haired Elfling was orphaned by another Orc attack. Galion requested that she be placed in the Royal Wing of the Palace. The Aide wanted a companion for the lonely Prince, and it would be good for both of them to have each other. He also hoped that the child might help his King learn to open his heart again. Tauriel did help Thranduil to a certain degree. He would often look in on Tauriel when she was sleeping, or sit by her bed when she had a bad dream. When she was awake, his smile didn't feel so forced. But he couldn't give her the same open affection that he had once showered upon his son when he was that age. He didn't know how anymore.

~o0o~

Looking back at those times, sitting in his tent in the ruins of Dale, Thranduil painfully acknowledged the fact that, if he'd only forced himself to allow others to help him, he might have moved past his sorrow. He might have learned to let go of the pain, and could have known the joys of being a father. Thranduil could have found a way, if he had only kept trying. If he could not trust speaking in the Palace, he could have used silencing spells, he could have gone out into the forest with Galion, perhaps. Or he could have visited Rivendell and allowed Elrond to help him, as he had offered to whenever he sent messages and other correspondence. He could have spoken to Mithrandir on one of his visits. But, in the end, he did not. It became easier and easier not to try.

He had gambled on the lies he told himself, and he had lost. Legolas was gone, along with any love he could have had for his father.

When he recalled his harsh words to Galion back then, he winced. It must have cut Galion deeply to be accused of not knowing what love or loss was. Thranduil's grief had made him selfish and hurtful to the one who had known and loved him since birth. Galion had always been a faithful servant, but he had been a guiding light in Thranduil's life, ever since he lost his father. And when his own children lost their parents, he was the same guiding light for Legolas and Tauriel, making sure they always felt loved. Thranduil had always appreciated it, but he did not always tell Galion often enough. Perhaps that was something that should change as well.

Thranduil went over to the wine decanter, poured himself another drink, and sat back down. He liked his temporary throne much better than the ancient, antlered seat on the Woodland Realm. This one was cushioned and made for comfort. The other was more to impress as a symbol of authority. The Elvenking sat back, and continued his contemplations. Almost effortlessly, his thoughts turned again to Bard, of the King of Dale. He had known the man for several years, and when he rode into Dale, he noticed that Bard had not changed all that much, since their first, brief meeting on the Forest River.

~o0o~

Thranduil had always believed in the practice of knowing everyone who worked for him, and made a point to meet each one personally. It was a practice he observed with his father, and he saw the benefit of it. "A good King knows his people," Oropher would often say, "If you expect loyalty from your subjects, you must always show them why you deserve it."

He had come to the docks on the that day, almost six years ago, to interview this new Bargeman. The other one had retired, and the boat was purchased by another man from Laketown, to continue this work. Thranduil wanted to meet this young man and assess his qualifications, before he officially hired him.

Bard seemed a bit nervous as he sat across from the Elvenking, accepting a goblet of the wine that he was now tasked with delivering to the Woodland Realm. They discussed his experience, his qualifications, and details of what would be required of him, and the salary involved. He had learned that he was a widower, his wife had died giving birth to his one-year-old daughter. He also had another older daughter who was nine, and a son who was seven. He seemed eager for the work, to do whatever it took, to provide them with a living.

He got the job. But there was more about this bargeman that piqued his curiosity.

As he sat with and spoke with Bard, he knew there was something about the man sitting across from him. The Lakeman's face, his bearing and his voice had a sense of familiarity about them. His face was lined with many cares, for one so young, even in the years of Men. He seemed to be honest, and was used to hard work. But, there was something more about him, that niggled at his memory. Thranduil studied the Man closely, as Bard continued to tell him about himself, and suddenly he knew the reason behind his recognition.

Bard had the look of Girion, the last King of Dale.

Thranduil had known Girion's 15th Great-Grandfather, Garon, who founded the city of Dale. Their realms had been friendly, and there was much trade and friendship amongst their peoples. Dale, under Garon's rule, began to be the center of trade, industry, and culture in the North.

His heirs worked hard to build upon that legacy, each one helping Dale to prosper. Thranduil had known and respected each of them. When Girion, the last King of Dale died trying to defend his city from the Dragon that came, Thranduil genuinely mourned the loss, not just of the man and most of his family, but the loss of all that the city provided for the North. That once-fair city was ruined and had been abandoned, left to fall into decay. Esgaroth, the nearby city on the Long Lake was also attacked, but it remained, a miserable shadow of what it once was. Several years after, it was commonly referred to as Laketown.

~o0o~

Bard's hair was longer now, and there were a few streaks of grey in it, which only added to his appeal. He noticed the lines in his tanned face were a deeper, but he seemed just as strong as he had been at their first meeting, still was as powerfully built. He still had the same courage, and regal countenance as his ancestor. A difference, though. Girion's eyes had been dark brown. Bard's eyes were deep pools of soft brownish-green, that made him think of his trees and the forest he loved so much. But they were just as sharp as Girion's, and held just as much intelligence and wisdom. He was mildly interested in Bard back then, but Elvenking was fascinated by him now.

When Thranduil took him to his new quarters the previous night and helped him into his bath, he enjoyed the sight of his body. There was dark hair on his forearms, chest and belly. His muscles were defined by demanding work and a lean diet. His shoulders were wide, his back straight and proud, and tapered down into a smaller waist, making a V shape. His bottom was muscular and defined as well, rounded and firm. His legs were long and powerful, covered in the same hair as on his chest. What Thranduil found especially appealing, was the line of dark hair that started below his navel, and made its way down, down to the dark nest of hair above his cock. Even unaroused, Thranduil could see its strong, thick beauty. His body was different from an Elf but wonderful and fascinating. Bard was simply beautiful.

Thranduil took a sip of his goblet and looked up from his musings. Galion was making his way to his table to bring him his dinner. As the King sat down, putting his napkin in his lap, he asked Galion, "How did the arrangements go for the nursery?"

"Excellent, my Lord. The children will be taken over to that area starting tomorrow morning. The Lady Hilda has asked some of the elderly to go there as well, so as to keep everyone occupied."

"That is an excellent plan. What about the orphans? Did she mention anything of their fate?"

"Not at this time, Sire, but I share in your concerns" replied Galion.

"I will ask the King of Dale tomorrow if there is anything we can do for them. They need safe homes and new families. If he is agreeable, we might ask that some of our people be willing to see to them, and perhaps, foster them, if there is no one available."

"That would be a splendid idea." Galion's face lit up. The idea of having children in the Palace again obviously appealed to him.

Thranduil didn't want to get his hopes up. "I urge caution, please. It may well be, that the Laketown people would insist on keeping them with their own kind. We will just have to see. Something tells me that Lord Bard will not have the final say in this matter. I think that will rest with the Lady Hilda, no matter what her King thinks about it." He looked at his aide with an amused face.

"Of that I have no doubt, My Lord." Galion smiled right back. He bowed his head to his King, then turned to leave.

"Galion?"

"Is there something you need, My Lord?" His Aide quickly turned around.

"Yes, there is. I do not thank you nearly enough for all that you do, to see to me, and to our people. You have been a faithful servant and a good friend to me, just as you were to my father. I could not have done nearly as well, had you not been by my side. It is important to me that you know this."

His Aide was a bit taken aback, but only those who know him well would be able to see that. At the mention of King Oropher, Galion's eyes looked down just a bit, but quickly regained his liege's gaze, who had eyes so like his father…

"I…sincerely thank you, My Lord. It has been my honor to serve you, and the Woodland Realm. I am proud to do it."

"And, Galion?"

"Yes, My Lord?"

"When we are alone, I wish you to just call me Thranduil." It seems the Bowman has rubbed off on his new friend and colleague.

"As you wish." Galion smiled at him and left.

ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:

 _Rista-Goeol_ \- (lit. "The Terrible Severing") the pain an Elf bond-mate is killed when a bond-mate is killed. If the couple were married, it is agony as part of their shared fëa, as the spouse heeds the Call of Mandos. That is an agonizing process that only the strongest Elves can survive.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

 **Ruins of Dale; 27th of November 2941 T.A.**

 _Do you think you can defeat me, Bowman?" Smaug's immense head gave Bard a haughty look and an evil smile. The Dragon's eyes reflected the flames that filled the sky. The glow that started in the belly of the Dragon traveled up to its gullet. Then it opened its maw and spewed forth even more flames, engulfing Bard. He screamed, and screamed, as he felt his clothes and hair burn and disappear, and felt the agony of his flesh melting from his bones. He needed the pain to stop. He wanted death to overtake him and stop this pain…_

 _He was in the water, now, and it felt better. The cold water stopped the fire and soothed his burns. He tried to swim, but couldn't move... Drifting, drifting... He was now headed toward the shore; the waves pushing him closer and closer… He turned his head and he saw them… Floating, beside him… The water was filled with children's bodies; some burned, some not… Their eyes are closed…are they sleeping? There were his own children, moving in the waves of the cold, cold water… Sigrid floated over beside him, turned her head toward him; half of her face a mass of burnt flesh… She opened her eyes and looked at him; afraid, accusing, disappointed. "You missed, Da. Why didn't you save me?"_

Bard woke with a start, covered in sweat, panting, and trembling so hard, his teeth chattered. Did he cry out? He looked over at the children. No, they were still asleep. Bain mumbled something on the far cot and rolled over. Sigrid was facing away from him, her brown hair peeking out from the blankets pulled halfway over her head. Tilda, who was next to him, was on her back, but she had kicked her covers down past her hips, so Bard quietly got up, went over to her, and pulled the blankets back up.

Then he ran outside, startling his guards, and about twenty feet away, bent over and vomited.

Footsteps stopped about five feet away. "Lord Bard! Are you well?" It was Daeron, that annoying guard that liked to tease him.

After heaving a few more times, he spit out the last of the bile, as he clutched his stomach, and tried to stand up straight. No, not yet; he groaned as he endured another round of stomach cramp, and heaving.

Eventually, Bard stopped and tried to stand upright again, but his stomach was painfully sore. A pair of strong, steady hands her holding his arm, which was helpful, because now, he was dizzy.

"I don't…want to wake the children…" he croaked.

"I understand." He turned to the other Guard and said something in Elvish. The Elf soon returned with one of the chairs from the table, and a cup of water, with a blanket slung over one arm. After sitting Bard down, and bundling him up in the blanket, he felt his forehead to check for fever. Then he held the cup to Bard, urging him to drink. "Small sips," he said firmly.

Bard did as he was told, and, eventually, calmed down. His breathing became more normal.

"How is your stomach?"

"A bit better." Bard rubbed his middle.

"Sit very still, close our eyes, and try to take deep breaths."

"Can you tell me what made you so ill?" Daeron asked him.

"It was a nightmare…"

"That would not be a surprise, nor uncommon, since the Battle. Do you feel pain anywhere, now? You have no fever, but you are still shaking."

"I'll be all right in a minute." Bard said, still breathing heavily.

"It would be good if you sat for a while. You need to settle yourself," the Elf again, turned and spoke to the other guard, and soon Bard's coat was brought out, along with a plate.

He put on his coat, but protested at the blanket. "I'll be fine."

"It is my job to make sure you are fine. Therefore, the blanket will be used until you stop your chills." His guard had a determined look on his face, and would brook no argument.

Bard sighed, resigned to his fate, and sat down as the blanket was draped around him, again.

He hated to admit it, but he was feeling better, as he got warm. Bard looked at his hands. They had almost stopped shaking. After a few more minutes, Daeron spoke again.

"Would you like your piece of bread now? You need to have something on your stomach after this, or the cramps could start up again." He placed some of the bread from the plate into Bard's hand. "Small bites, and please keep sipping the water."

Bard nibbled on the bread. "Thank you."

"You are most welcome."

"Hey." The chewing stopped, and Bard looked up. "I just noticed something."

"What is that?"

"You aren't 'My Lording' me all over the place." He gave the guard a lopsided grin.

"I am being remiss in my duties, My Lord. My deepest apologies, My Lord." Daeron grinned right back at him.

"Doesn't the other one talk? I haven't heard a peep out of him since you started with all this nonsense. What's his name, anyway?"

"His name is Turamarth, and I am afraid he only speaks Sindarin, My Lord. He is also my cousin. He is well-accomplished in swordsmanship. When we spar, it is usually a draw. He usually bests me in archery, although it is always a close contest."

Bard quirked an eyebrow. "So, what you're saying is, I'd be safer with him, than with you?"

"No! Not at all. Perhaps slightly." The Elf became a bit flustered and, despite the pain in his stomach, Bard was loving every minute of it. "He and I are equally skilled with weapons, but I am gifted in the Healing Arts. I had spent some time in Dale before the Dragon came, and I learned the Healing Arts for the race of Men and learned to speak Westron. So, you see, My Lord," he said with a triumphant grin, "you are actually safer with me, My Lord."

"You Woodfolk are a sensitive lot, aren't you?" Bard couldn't resist the jab. Then something else he said registered. "Wait a minute! You knew Dale before it fell? You knew Girion? Seriously?"

Daeron gave Bard a condescending smile. "Of course, My Lord."

Shit, Bard thought. I lost that round.

Once Bard and the Elven guard were finished with their verbal sparring, and he was feeling steady on his feet, he made his way back into his tent. He went into the bathing area and washed the sweat off his face and neck, before going back to bed. After checking the children, he pulled down the blankets and crawled into his cot as quietly as could. Settling under the covers, he tried to fall asleep again, but his mind wouldn't slow down. How could it, when so many things were happening all at once?

He tossed and turned, restlessly, trying to empty his thoughts or think of something pleasant, and all the other things he tried when this happened. Nightmare or no, oftentimes Bard had a tough time trying to get a decent night's sleep. He had always been that way. He found it difficult to settle and quiet his mind, to relax himself into slumber.

Mattie used to sing to him when he would get like this. She would lay his head on the soft pillows of her breasts, stroke his hair and sing softly until he finally drifted off. She had such a beautiful, sweet voice, and knew more than her fair share of songs. She loved singing, and Bard loved hearing it.

When Bard used walk back to his house after a long day out on the water, he would hear her voice in the distance and stop sometimes, just to listen. Then he would smile to himself, thinking how blessed he was, and would go to her and the children. He met and loved that voice, before he ever laid eyes on her...

~o0o~

She had been visiting her uncle, sent to spend the summer with her cousins, and perhaps find a husband among the wealthier citizens of Laketown. Her father owned an orchard, and while he was far from rich, made a respectable living. His wife's brother had convinced him that he could find a decent husband for his daughter; one that could provide for her.

What Mattie and her family hadn't realized then, was that the uncle's plan was to try marrying her off to the Master of Laketown himself, thus gaining political advantage (and perhaps wealth), from the deal.

She had been introduced to the Master, who thought her suitable, and decided he would do her the great honor of pursuing her to win her hand.

Mattie, however, was repulsed by him.

The Master had been a bit more dapper 16 years ago, but she looked through his sugary, cloying exterior and saw a man she wanted nothing to do with. After weeks and weeks of encouraging this union, and listening to her refusals her uncle was outraged. Mattie's father was sent for, to force the foolish girl to see reason.

Mattie's father came, and, upon meeting the Master, went back to his wife's brother's home and punched him on the jaw, sending him and two of his teeth flying. The uncle was humiliated before the Master, and the Master was humiliated before whole town, as he was arrogant enough to announce their engagement without gaining Mattie's or her father's consent.

It was too late anyway. Mattie was already in love with the handsomest man she had ever seen (so she always said), and Bard had fallen in love with the loveliest woman, with a voice like a songbird, singing the world awake in the morning (so he always said).

Her voice was the first thing Bard met. He was maneuvering his skiff back home with his pole, after a day out fishing. He lived in a poorer section of town, towards the back end, and he was working his vessel past one of the better neighborhoods, when he heard a voice singing. He can't remember the song now. Only that the voice was perfect. He stopped to listen, feeling like he was returning to someplace familiar, but had never been.

The singing stopped, a doorway opened on the walkway to the left, and out stepped a trio of young women. Among them was the most beautiful girl Bard had ever seen or even dreamed of. Her light brown hair was long, slightly wavy, and her eyes were bright, clear blue, that matched the dress she was wearing. One of the other girls said something, causing them all to laugh, and that's when it happened.

She smiled. And Bard lost his ability to breathe.

As the girls made their way along the walkway, she glanced around at her surroundings, and their eyes met, and, for Bard, that was **It.**

A few minutes later, one of the third girl, Mattie's cousin, made the introductions, and Bard learned that the singing voice he had heard belonged to her, as well as her beauty, which added to the pounding of his heart.

Luckily, this blue-eyed beauty thought Bard was **It,** for her as well.

Soon, they were inseparable, over her uncle's strenuous objections. Afraid of ruining his arrangement with the Master, he had ordered her to never see the young fisherman again. The cousins; hopeless romantics both, helped them to sneak behind their father's back. One of them was engaged to be married, and the other already had a beau, so, of course they wanted Matilda share in the joys of true love.

Then the conflagration between the uncle, the Master, and Mattie's father came to pass, and it was discovered that Bard had been courting her, so introductions and inspections were hastily conducted by her protective, but loving father.

Brand and Mattie's father Bain were introduced, and there was some lengthy discussions as to Bard's suitability and his ability to provide for his beloved girl. Apparently, things went well, because the two men had sat up until the wee hours, talking, then drinking, then singing lewd pub songs until they both passed out, and Bard was granted permission to marry Mattie, and the engagement was announced.

Their wedding was small, but lovely. Percy and Hilda stood up for Bard, and Mattie's cousins were beside her. Her wedding ring had belonged to Mattie's mother, and the cords used in their hand fasting had been used in their parent's weddings. Bard never forgot her smiling face and shining eyes, as she spoke her vows with a clear, sure voice. Bard's voice was quieter because he could hardly breathe; she was just so beautiful, and he couldn't believe his good fortune.

After a honeymoon trip to Dorwinian, courtesy of his new father-in-law, the newlyweds were set up in their own home. It was modest, but cozy, and she kept a good, neat house for him, as he went out on the Long Lake to work his nets.

Soon, Sigrid, who was named after Bard's late mother was born. Bard held his baby, who was the image of her mother, and, as with Mattie, it was love at first sight. Two years later, their son was born, with Bard's eyes, and wavy black hair, Mattie wanted to name him after her Da, so they called him Bain. They were active, fairly healthy babies, and, as they grew, kept their Ma and Da on their toes. He was immensely proud of his children, and cherished his wife. They were the treasures of his life, and his only regret was that he couldn't drape his wife in beautiful clothes, and give his children everything they wanted.

"Don't you dare talk such nonsense," she would say, arms around his neck, looking up at him with a smile. "I have all I need, you silly man, and so do our babies. Fancy things to wrap us up in, won't change any of that." Then she would kiss him, grab him by the hand, and drag him off towards their bed. "Don't believe me? Well, I suppose I'd better show you, love."

Then she would thoroughly remind him of his blessings. As often as they could, they reminded each other of their blessings.

For almost five years, their family remained at four, so he and Mattie had believed their family was complete. Then, a wonderful surprise: They were going to have another child, and Bard was over the moon.

Sigrid and Bain were happy, easy pregnancies. But the third time Mattie carried a child within her, it seemed different. She was pale tired much of the time, and her sickness in the mornings was much worse, lasting months past the time it usually settled down. When Mattie's pains had started in earnest, almost a month early, the midwife and Hilda shooed Bard and the children out of the house. They were firmly ordered out, and go and keep Percy company until his presence was called for, and not one minute before then. It was the same speech he was given before the births of his other children.

When they went to Percy and Hilda's home, and the older man kept them all busy. He placed Sigrid and Bain on either side of him, so he could show them the best way to mend his fishing nets. They spent the day like that. He taught them different knots with pieces of rope, and had them practice them until dinnertime, when the men prepared the meal and they all sat down together. After the cleanup, they sat on the benches in front of the wood stove, and Percy started telling Sigrid and Bain stories, until little eyes were drooping, and the yawns couldn't stop. Percy and Bard gathered up the little ones and placed them on the spare bed to sleep. The kids were relaxed and happy. They had occasionally spent the night with Percy and Hilda, so, to them, little seemed out of the ordinary.

The night wore on, and Bard started pacing. Mattie had never taken this long with Sigrid or Bain. They had been assured that with each child, the babies usually come easier and quicker. Then again, he told himself, babies had little minds of their own and pretty much did as they pleased, didn't they? Percy paced with him, sat at the table with him, and waited with him, and served up the occasional glass of ale to calm their nerves.

What happened next haunts his dreams to this day.

The door to Percy's home opened, and Hilda stepped in, and the look on her face told Bard what words could not, because speech failed her. Time stood still and the room itself seemed to shift, as he covered his ears to try and stop the roar that pounded in his ears and mind, as his thoughts raced:

No, no, no, no, no…, don't take her, don't take my wife. She's my heart…don't rip me in half, and leave me to bleed, let this be a dream…please. The baby…what about the baby, what happened to my wife and my child, no, no, no, no, please can't be real…this isn't happening…

Bard gazed down at the body of his wife. She looked so pale, so perfectly still, as if carved out of alabaster. He noticed how her long, dark lashes brushed gently over her cheekbones. He touched that beautiful face, that would never smile again. That beautiful voice would never speak again, never sing again, never whisper his name.

There was bleeding, they said. She had had a hard time, and right after the baby had been born at last, the blood started to flow from her and it didn't stop until it drained her life away. He stroked her beautiful brown hair, and shared at her, trying to memorize her features, as his tears fell onto her face and sparkled in the lamplight. He wanted this memory with him, wherever life would take him and their children. He bent down to kiss her forehead, then her cold lips, sobbing. It still didn't seem real.

Hilda came over to stand next to him, crying. She reached for his hand, and he grabbed it, holding on for dear life, silently begging her to never let go.

What about the baby? Where was the baby? No, please...

He felt a hand on his shoulder. Still holding on to Hilda, Bard closed his eyes and slowly turned, trying to muster his courage to face the rest of this tragic night. Instead, a small, warm bundle was placed in his arms, then the two women were gently easing him down into a chair.

He looked down into two beautiful blue eyes, just like Mattie's, who regarded him with curiosity. She had her two middle fingers in her mouth, making tiny, suckling noises. A daughter, they said. Another little girl. And she was fine, they said, just a little small. He couldn't look away from those innocent, trusting eyes, that were blinking up at him. Tears fell on the little blanket that was swaddling his new child. This baby deserved a smile, he told himself. Mattie gave up everything to bring her into the world, and Bard wanted to show her she was welcome.

But he couldn't, just yet, and he hoped she would forgive him. Instead, he lost himself in that tiny, beautiful face. He sat in silence, for a long, long time, staring at his new daughter, and Hilda was wise and compassionate to let them be. Finally, Bard found his voice, and managed a hoarse whisper.

"Her name will be the same as her mother," Bard said, as he kissed her brow. "Matilda."

~o0o~

Still awake... Bard had to find something else to think on besides his dead wife. Remembering the happiest time of his life should bring him peace, but it always ended with heartache and loneliness. This was no way to try and get some more sleep. He was trying not to think of anything gloomy which was a right job, considering all that had taken place during the past four weeks…

The image of a tall, icy blonde Elf came to his mind. It actually came to him more often than he was ready to admit. He knew he was drawn to him; how could he not be? He was perfect to look at: Those perfect, dark brows over eyes of light grey, his smooth flawless skin, and pink lips over a strong chin. He was the image of grace whenever he moved. He liked his hands, too, and how graceful they were, with those long elegant fingers…

Bard has always known that, to him, the male form was just as appealing as the female. It was never any conscious decision on his part, it was just always a part of him. He was fairly comfortable about it. One of the things he loved about the Laketown people, and its melding of so many different races and cultures, was a general acceptance of matters of sexuality. There will always be some, as there are in every place, who held vocal, unsolicited opinions about such things, but for the most part, it was not seen as an issue at all, and there were several couples of the same sex living alongside the others in Laketown.

Honesty, respect, and dependability were the virtues that mattered for people who had to rely on each other so much, just to survive. There was little gossip about who preferred what, or who didn't. "There much are better things to think on, and that is that," the Laketown folk would say, and turn away, when one of their opinionated citizens would try to inflict others with their own brand of wisdom.

Ever since Thranduil helped him with his bath, four nights ago, Bard wondered what it would be like to see the Elf without his clothes. It was only fair, he decided – turnabout was fair play, was it not? Those were fleeting thoughts, though; his waking hours were too filled with important decisions to be made. His people needed looking after, he told himself. Then again, he was a King, and looking after his people will take the rest of his life, and Thranduil was going to be a big part of it.

How could he ignore all that long, blonde silky hair? How it moved when he walked, and shone in the sun. He was so beautiful. What would Thranduil look like when he smiled? Not a condescending, superior smirk, but a genuine smile. Bard wondered about that, and he hoped he would see it. Many images of the Elvenking flowed through his thoughts throughout his days, and most of the time, he was so busy, he could put them in the back of his mind, and get on with things.

At night, when things were quiet, it was harder to push these thoughts away. And, he reasoned, they were at least better than these haunting nightmares. His dream tonight of the Dragon, and the sight of all those dead bodies crept into his waking hours as well as his sleep….

Giving in to his insomnia, Bard got back up, and put on his tunic, coat and boots. He went to the tent flap – yes, it was opened for him – and went out. He told Daeron he needed to go for a walk to clear his head. Leaving his other guard at the tent to watch over the children, Bard made for Girion's old castle, attached to the Great Hall. On the way, Daeron kept a respectable distance behind, but not enough to leave him unprotected. When he reached the tower adjoining the castle, he walked up the steps to the top, and went over to the Eastern Parapet and looked out into the night.

 _Blood. So much blood. It was everywhere; the ground was soaked with hit. Black blood from the countless Orcs that had been slain, was covering the ground, along with the red blood of Elves and Men. The stench was unbearable. Black and Red. Evil and Good. Thranduil stood, looking down at a small pool of it; fascinated how the two would never mix together; it swirled into ever-changing patterns…_

 _His Adar's face, fierce in battle, fair and just in his throne, and kind and loving in the Royal Chambers was before him. It looked different. It was frozen in death, pale, eyes half lidded; looking at nothing, no movement in his chest. Thranduil had never seen this expression before, and couldn't stop staring at it. He jumped when the head slowly started moving, face turning towards him. Oropher open his eyes fully, and became focused on his son. "My son, you failed. Why didn't you save me?" he accused._

 _Then his Mírelen, his beautiful wife, appeared, lying next to her father-in-law. The wound in her neck gaped open, showing her bones and the inner workings of her throat. Her face was not frozen, however; she was struggling to say something, but her injured throat was making it difficult. Thranduil couldn't go to her; he was frozen, transfixed. Finally, she rasped out the words,_

" _Where is Legolas?"_

 _In his dream, he wanted to tell her. He tried to speak, but his lips were sealed together, he couldn't open them. Horrible, muffled noises were coming from him, because the words were screaming inside him to get out._

 _Thranduil heard and felt movement beside him. He looked to his right, and there was Legolas, standing, dressed as he was when he left Ravenhill…_

 _Legolas left his side and walked past Oropher's feet, and around to stand over his mother's body, facing him. He looked down at her and asked Thranduil, "Who is this? Who is she? I do not know her. She is a stranger to me, Ada."_

 _Thranduil wanted to answer him, but his mouth was still sealed shut. He was desperate to tell him this was his Naneth, who adored him and gave her life for him. The muscles in his face were nearly bursting with the effort to get the words out. He brought his hands to his mouth, trying to pry his lips open._

 _Oropher still looking at Thranduil, said, "She is your mother."_

" _No! You lie! Legolas became angry. "I have no mother!"_

 _Mírelen struggled to turn her head towards her son, the open wound in her neck getting wider, her mouth gaping to speak, but no words would come out._

 _Then the Dragon came. It landed on the ground, some distance from the bodies, behind his son, and he crawled towards them. He could see its eyes, its lips curled in disgust, showing its jagged teeth, mocking him, goading him, "You can save them, King. All you must do is speak of your love for them. This is all you have to do, and I will spare them." Thranduil desperately tried to open his mouth, to form words, screaming, screaming. inside of himself. The Dragon looked at him with an evil smile, "No? You do not want to save them? Very well, you have made your choice, Elf." It laughed, then opened its maw and engulfed his father, his wife and his son in fire, the heat scorching Thranduil's face, causing him writhe in agony._

 _He felt arms grabbing his shoulders. Someone was standing in front of him, shaking him, hard. It was Galion, and he seemed oblivious to all that was happening behind his back._

 _Thranduil looked at him with pleading eyes, trying to tell him about his family, about the dragon. His voice, trapped inside of him, began to hurt, more and more. It burned inside of him. It burned outside of him. The side of his face was on fire. Agony, agony. Please, help me Galion, please, please._

 _Galion was angry. Still shaking his shoulders, he said, "I cannot help you. I cannot help you, because it is true. There is no love in you." Galion said it again and again, "There is no love in you, there is no love in you, there is no—Sire!" Galion was shaking him even harder…_

" _Sire! Sire! My Lord Thranduil! You must wake up! You are dreaming! Please, wake up!"_

Galion's hands were still on his shoulders, shaking him. The battlefield slowly receded behind his Chief Aide, the scenery was changing, changing…

He was in his bed.

He was in his tent, in the City of Dale, and shaking like the leaves of his tall, tall trees.

He had been dreaming, again.

"My Lord! Thranduil, please! You must wake! Please!" Hands still shook him firmly; Galion's face was stricken with concern.

"I am…I am…awake." Thranduil managed to whisper. He was panting rapidly, hardly catching his breath. He clutched at his chest, as if to try to keep his heart from jumping out of it.

"You were screaming," his Aide told him.

Thranduil closed his eyes, willing his body to calm down. Willing his mind to clear from those horrific images…

"I am sorry..." He rasped. It would seem, that sheer force of will was not effective at the moment. He panted some more.

"Please, Sire, do not try to talk just now. Will you be all right if I go out to the table and get you some water? I can wait, if you like." Galion hated to leave. His King looked so anxious, and his glamour had fallen.

Still clutching his chest, Thranduil nodded.

"All right. I will be back in just a moment. Just try to relax." The Aide quickly got up and returned with a both a cup of water and a full goblet of Dorwinian. Good notion, the Elvenking thought.

"Here now, let us sit up a bit better. Here you go." It irritated him a little that Galion was holding the cup to his lips, as if to baby him, but when he tried to hold the cup himself, his hands were still shaking too much to get a good grasp on it. He took a few sips, and started to feel a bit better. He felt sticky; his night clothes were soaked with sweat. Even in battle, Thranduil never sweated like this.

Galion must have read his mind. "When you are calmer, I will arrange for you to wash and change your clothes, My Lord. Your sheets need to be changed, as well. They are soaked."

"Thank you. I am starting to recover. You said I was screaming?"

"Yes, Sire. I came in here to bring you some fresh water, and I heard you."

"Please, Galion, do not use my title. We are in private. Even if I had not asked you earlier, I would ask you now. At this moment, I need…a friend."

Galion tried not to be surprised. "Of course, my apologies." Galion wasn't feeling chastened, he was feeling amazement. There was an openness in his King that hadn't been there since the before his Queen was killed. It wasn't a great deal, but the Aide could sense a change in him. Whatever caused this, he felt glad for it.

Thranduil eased himself up into more of a sitting position and looked around him. Galion had lit the lamp in his room at some point. It was comforting. The light and the company were starting to dissipate the horror of his dream. He wished he didn't remember it, but each detail was still sharp in his mind. It was the same dream he always had, with one exception. Legolas had never before appeared in them. When he had these dreams, they were terrible. This time, with his lost son added to its mix, it was unbearable.

He took stock of himself; he was sodden, and his cheek was causing him much pain. His glamour must have fallen in his sleep. Thranduil stilled himself, and concentrated for a few moments, placing it back. It served not only to serve as a covering, so he could appear normal, but also as a means to numb the wound and protect the nerve endings, which will never fully heal. If he didn't have it, the constant pain would have driven him mad.

~o0o~

After the Battle at Dagorlad, the Armies of the Last Alliance spent several years attempting to storm the Gates of Mordor. Eventually, this was accomplished. Their next move was to storm and overtake the Tower during the Siege of Barad-Dûr.

During the Siege, Sauron himself appeared in physical form at the base of the Tower, the One Ring on his finger, prepared to destroy the Last Alliance and all who were part of it. Elendil, the King of Gondor had been slain and lay dead his feet. His son, Isildur then cut the finger with the One Ring off of his hand, and the War was won. At great cost to the Alliance, they had triumphed, the Free Peoples had prevailed.

Thranduil was witness to none of this.

Sixteen months before, while leading the Woodland Army, Sauron let loose a Dragon to attack his troops. After the Battle of Dagorland, Sauron had sent to the Withered Heath, East of the Grey Mountains, for several of these creatures.

All told, there were three that had been used by the Enemy in this war. Two had the ability to fly, and one did not. The ground Dragon, and one of the flyers, had been destroyed, leaving the last, most powerful Dragon left to fly over Middle Earth. This one survived because it had scales like armor, and nothing could penetrate them. After the War, this evil being flew over the lands of Middle Earth for several millennia, causing terror and destruction wherever it went, until it met its death at the hands of a Bargeman, his son, and the Last Black Arrow on Arda, during the Third Age, in the year 2941.

The other flying Dragon used in the War of the Last Alliance, was killed in the year 3439, S.A., by the Thranduil, Son of Oropher, King of the Woodland Realm, just outside Mordor's Black Gates.

During this skirmish, Rurlug, a winged-Dragon and brother of Smaug the Terrible was sent from the Tower of Barad-Dûr and was headed straight for Thranduil's army. Knowing they would be destroyed, Thranduil ran ahead, ordering his troops to stay behind, and swiftly made his way up onto the rocks at the top of a hill right in front of them. Then, he hid behind a large boulder, waiting, with his own sword in one hand, and his Adar's in the other, poised to strike.

All too soon, the Dragon descended. The glow was in its belly and was starting to move up its neck; getting ready to spit fire. As it swooped low over the hill, Thranduil leaped out from behind the rock, jumped atop it, then made an impossibly high leap into the air, as only an Elf can do. He flipped forward in a somersault to give his sword-strikes more impetus, then uncurled his body and stabbed the Dragon in its vulnerable underbelly and held on, using the creature's momentum against it to slice its gullet wide open, thus killing it. But he was not unscathed. The fire that had been building in the Dragon's gut escaped, and it hit Thranduil dead on; he was too close to avoid it.

Most of his soldiers realized afterward, that their King knew this would most likely happen - he did not expect to survive killing the Dragon. He was willing to sacrifice himself to save the Army, and, in turn, the population of the Woodland Realm, so that it could endure. "A true King was a servant of his people," King Oropher had always told his son, and Thranduil didn't hesitate to serve.

If there had been any lingering doubt about the ability and the bravery of the new, young King of the Woodland Realm, they vanished instantly. Thranduil earned the undying love and loyalty of his Army, and all the other Armies of the Free Peoples that were there. Once his people back in the Greenwood learned of his deed, they were also forever devoted to him, and would follow him wherever he led them; unto death if need be. He truly earned his title as the Mightiest Warrior on Middle Earth.

Barely alive, and screaming with agony, Thranduil was rushed to the healing tent, where Elrond looked after him personally. To keep him alive and to spare him constant suffering, Elrond immediately placed the Elvenking into a deep, healing sleep, in which he remained for many months. Dragonfire was dangerous and tricky to heal but Elrond felt confident he could restore him. He was, however, heartsick to see evidence of the Dragon's blood on one side of his face. Alas, there was no cure for that, not even for the mighty Elrond, who was the best and most powerful healer on Middle Earth. This young, brave, King, who saved his Army, and possibly the entire Alliance, deserved the best that he, with the Valar's help, could provide.

He was given a separate tent in the Healer's area, far away from the fighting, and the Silvan Elves of his realm were falling over themselves to volunteer for shifts to guard it. Feren immediately stepped in and led the Army of the Woodland Realm in his King's place, and with Galion's help, served admirably; working well with the other leaders in the Alliance. After the Dagorland disaster, Thranduil had made the effort that his Adar did not, and was willing to accede to the commands of the High King, knowing that a combined force was the wisest, at this point. He did not disparage King Oropher's earlier decisions, but the situation was rapidly changing, and adaptation was necessary.

Galion looked after his King's body while asleep: clipping his nails, keeping the what little healthy flesh there was on him washed and clean, and caring for his hair, as it grew back. As instructed by Elrond, Galion spoke and sang to him as much as he could, speaking to him as if he were awake. Elrond was constantly monitoring his progress, changing his bandages, and continued with the healing spells and other treatments. The King remained in his sleep-state for over six months, then it took another month for Thranduil to gradually wake up. He could take nourishment, if it was done carefully, and herbs were administered for his pain.

The burns on his body eventually healed and his skin was restored completely, all save his face. Elrond knew better, but he still tried many remedies, hoping that something could be done.

Just as severe as the physical pain was the emotional pain. Galion had argued with Thranduil but in the end, the King prevailed, and a looking-glass was brought, so he could see himself. The Elvenking tried to keep his composure, but when he broke down and wept, the Chief Aide was there to gently hold him and speak comfort to him. He had many moments when he regretted living through the Dragon, but Feren, Galion, and Elrond would be there to offer him support.

In the end, he tried to reconcile himself to the scars, as best he could, and the Elvenking was grateful that Elrond had done as much as he did, yet the pain was barely manageable, even for a Sindarin Elf.

Elrond still had an option to help, which he presented to Thranduil once he was awake and he could be fully apprised of his condition. There was no way to restore the sight in one eye, but Elrond had told him it will adjust. He was Sindarin, and his Elven senses would heighten naturally to compensate for whatever lack of peripheral vision he would lack. That process took nearly two years, but as it was a miracle he was not completely blinded, Thranduil sent up prayers of thanks to the Valar.

Elrond taught Thranduil how to hold a glamour, to cover and protect the wound, as well as greatly easing its pain and give him a normal appearance. At first Elrond placed it, and Thranduil felt some relief but he was assured that once he could do it himself, it would ease the pain much better. It took a considerable effort, and the Elvenking wasn't always patient, but with practice, but the process eventually became second-nature, and keep it up in his sleep.

This all meant that Thranduil was effectively on the injured list until he was restored to his full capability. No effective warrior could be blind to his left side, especially the leader of an Army. He was furious at not being out there with his soldiers; Thranduil was never that kind of leader who stayed out of the fray. To him it felt cowardly. But, for the sake of Feren and his officers, he didn't engage in battle. If he were to insist on being at the head of his troops, in pain, weak and half-blinded, he would put those surrounding him at risk by having to compensate for him. That was not what a good warrior, what a good King, would do.

Thranduil detested every minute of his slow recovery; he hated sitting in the background; it went against everything he had been taught, but endangering his men, who would be distracted, trying to protect him, was out of the question. For the rest of the War, Thranduil was still in his healing tent, receiving daily reports, consulting with Feren and the other leaders, and practicing the skill of a glamour Elrond was teaching him, to hide both scars and the pain.

By the time the War was ended, he was well enough to make the return trip home unaided, and his face showed no sign of the injury, needing less effort to keep it hidden. His vision was much better on his left side, but still needed more time, so Feren insisted on riding on the left, rather than the traditional right, for the return trip.

Feren had protected his King fiercely during the War, and he had to be physically forced to keep the order to stay back when Thranduil climbed up the hill to fight the Dragon. He was grieved at the extent of the Elvenking's injuries, and prayed to the Valar desperately to save him, because he had saved them. When the bandages had come off, only Elrond, Galion, and Feren saw those scars. His Second-in-Command would allow no one else to see them, and demanded that no one who had seen them would ever speak of it.

Within a year after returning home with his troops, Thranduil's sight was fully restored, and it took little effort for him to keep his scars hidden; most of the time, the pain was hardly noticeable. Only in cases of extreme physical pain or upset would it fall.

~o0o~

After the nightmare, the Elvenking drank several glasses of water, and half of the wine, and he was feeling somewhat restored. He went into the bathing area, used the necessary, then washed, while Galion changed the bed with fresh sheets, Thranduil decided that he wasn't tired enough to go back to sleep for a while, and the idea of lying there in the dark, with his mind left to wander, was unappealing.

It was still only four hours past sundown; it was fairly early into the night, so he would benefit from a walk and some air. He dressed in a tunic, leggings, cloak and boots and, with his sword always at his side, he stepped out into the night.

After wandering for a bit, he made his way to the Tower of Garon the Founder, went up its steps to the walked to the Eastern Parapet on the top.

There, looking out into the moonlight, was Bard, the King of Dale.


	7. Chapter 7

**NOTE:** I owe a big thank you to **dreamgoneby** not only for the kind review, but for letting me know there was a mixup with Chapter Five! It has since been taken care of, so please, check it out; it provides the full story of Thranduil and his wife, which you might find useful.

Thank you, EVERYONE, for the warm reception I have recieved in !

 **Chapter Seven**

 **Ruins of Dale; 27th of November 2941 T.A.**

Bard rested his hands on the cool stone of the wall overlooking the valley between Dale and Erebor. His fingerless gloves aided some in keeping his hands warm, but he always preferred to get the genuine feel of what he touched.

He observed all the Elves and Men, digging in the night. Torches had been strategically placed to aid their ability to see. There were trenches, where the dead of Laketown, had been wrapped up in the linen that Thranduil had provided, and reverently laid to rest, once they were identified. The digging and burials were taking place around the clock, to get them finished before the funeral ceremonies. The Elves' gravesite was larger, tragically; their immortal lives cut short by the Battle. It was to the left of the Laketown site, and there were more Elves than Men going about this grim work. He was glad to see that each must have offered help to the other, as they, shovels in hand, dug side by side in this heartbreaking job. He didn't know if there had been female Elves among the soldiers, but if what he had been told about Tauriel was true, there probably were. No matter - they all deserved as much honor as could be given. He made a mental note to have Percy to rotate the schedules to give some off for the men who were dealing with the dead, once the task was finished.

The lists of the Laketown dead were as complete as Percy and his men could make them. The unidentified bodies, marred by their burns from the Dragon, were matched as much as possible with the list of those missing. It wasn't completely successful, and there were names among the missing that simply couldn't be found; men, women, and children.

Bard made another mental note to ask if the Dwarves could fashion an additional stone memorial to be erected near the burial site, for the missing. Those families needed to have a place to come to: to lie flowers, pray, or just feel closer to the other families who were suffering the same fate.

Bard was counted among those who did not lose a loved one, and he was more grateful to Ulmo and all the Valar, than he would ever be able to express, but he hurt deeply for others who must face loss. So many others were mourning their dead and missing, the latter being especially painful, as their fate was not completely certain. The shores of the Lake will continue to be patrolled, to search for bodies as well as usable detritus that might wash up on the beaches.

There will be no searching the waters of Laketown, though. The decree was made, that no one was permitted to go back into Laketown for any reason, until Bard could be sure of the stability of all the structures still there. At any rate, there won't be time for that until after their first winter was over - their focus must be on the living. At this point, Bard had no idea of what to do about Laketown, but there would be time in the future to make plans.

"I see you are also not abed, Dragonslayer." The deep, resonating voice was unmistakable, as was the tall, blond figure that appeared beside him.

"Please, don't call me that."

"Why should I not call you Dragonslayer?" You are among the very few in Middle Earth who could claim this honor. Are you not entitled to this?"

"Some would say so, but I wish they wouldn't. I might have killed Smaug, but I wasn't thinking of saving the city. I was only thinking of saving my children. It doesn't seem right to be called something like that, when I was so terrified." He didn't want to admit that the very thought of that that wretched face from atop the bell tower, _still_ frightened him. Especially after the dream he just had.

"Facing great danger to protect your loved ones is nothing that should cause you disappointment, Bard. In saving your children, you saved many others. That was no accident. It was meant to be so, I think."

"How can you say something like that! Just look out there. You mean the Valar orchestrated all this? They _wanted_ the Dragon to kill so many, just to get me back to Dale? That all this death and destruction was part of their plan?" Bard became angry at this notion. "Let me tell you, if _all this_ had to come about so I could be King of Dale, then I refuse!" Looking at those large, mass graves, it was impossible to see how the Valor could have wanted death and mourning. He meant what he told the Elf: if all this wretchedness was what they truly wished for, then Bard wanted nothing more to do with it, or them.

"Of course, they did not, Bard, and I do understand your anger." Thranduil said, gently. "I do not believe those graves are any part of the will of the Valar. They are not to blame in this. Neither Smaug, nor the Orcs pay any homage to the Valor. Their kind were turned into servants of _Morgoth_ _Bauglir_.

Bard looked at him, surprised. "He turned them into Dragons and Orcs? I thought he created them."

"Yes, he did, and no, he cannot. He took other beings and, using sorcery and flame, manipulated them into the Dragons that cursed Middle Earth, as he also did with the Orcs. Did you know that, originally, Orcs came from Elves that _Morgoth_ had captured? He didn't have the power to create a species from nothing, but he used his power to distort and corrupt them into those vile, hateful creatures, then bred them. Make no mistake: we all hate Orcs. We should hate them. An Orc, _must_ be killed; there is no viable way to reason with them or turn them. But we Elves always try to remember and pity those who were originally captured during that Age.

"But I digress, Bard. None of those creatures that we faced on the Battlefield pay homage to the Valor; their only purpose is to destroy all that we hold dear. However, we Men, Elves, and even Dwarves _do_. And by our belief, the Valar can aid us into turning that evil into a better, higher purpose. All we must do is decide to look to them, and listen, when they guide us."

Bard looked at Thranduil intently, considering his words.

"My _Adar_ rejected the notion that everything happens for a reason. It is a lie. Many, many terrible things _do not_ happen for a reason. Senseless tragedy, war, famine, fire, do not come from Eru, our Creator, nor do they come from any of the Valar. But, as _Ada_ would tell me, the Valar can bring purpose into everything that happens, even if it comes from evil. Many times, our own motives do not seem to come from their guidance, but through us, they work to fight the evils of Middle Earth in whatever means they are able. Oftentimes, in unexpected ways."

Bard pondered this for a moment. "It's hard to reconcile all this, when I see all those dead being buried out there. All the sorrow…"

"That is very difficult, I agree." Thranduil continued. "But we believe the Valar will care for those who died; death is never one's ultimate fate. We Elves go to the Halls of Mandos, while the race of Man goes where Eru himself will not reveal, but we are sure is a good place. The Valar did not cause anyone to die from all that has occurred here, but they will always take care of our dead. I hope that can ease you a little."

It didn't.

Some of his people were still dead, and as wise as Thranduil's words were, it couldn't bring them back. It still _hurt_. "I can hardly bear it." Bard's choked, eyes filled with tears. "If I could have…" He paused, "I saved my own children, Thranduil, but so many other children are dead, Thranduil. Children died, and the grief of those parents..." Bard stopped, and closed his eyes, trying to chase away the memories that came into his mind. "I think the images of their bodies, floating in the water will never, ever leave me. Just hours before, they were innocent and happy, playing with each other and with their toys, and now… Oh, Valar…" His voice broke. "There…was a baby, Thranduil. There was a tiny burnt, baby floating in the Lake. And…I couldn't save…"

A hand was placed on top of Bard's, squeezing gently. "You did not fail them," the Elf said. "Everything I know of you, Bard, convinces me that you gave your very best efforts. You gave your utmost. Please keep in mind that _none_ of you would be alive now if you hadn't tried so hard." Bard's head hung low, eyes squeezed shut as he tried to banish that image from his mind, knowing he never would quite succeed. He realized at that moment, that it would haunt him till his dying day. Thranduil's touch was a comfort, but it would never be enough to stop that pain of it… He heard the Elf continue speaking.

"I know, as a King, what it is like to feel inadequate against so many evil forces that seek to destroy us. If my ability were as strong as my will, _none_ of my people would have ever been taken from my Realm. It is my greatest sorrow that I cannot accomplish this. We, both of us, will never be able to protect our people from every tragedy. All we can do is try our best."

"I know this in my head. I truly do. I know what you say is true." Bard whispered. "But I can't convince my heart." Unconsciously, he placed his hand on his chest. "I'll always remember those children…"

"I am so very sorry, Bard," Thranduil said quietly, and squeezed his hand again. There was nothing more to say. There were no words that could truly comfort.

A tear rolled down Bard's cheek. He had never grieved about all this since the Desolation. He had been angry; his ruined sword from the other night can attest to that, but that only served to keep the heartache at bay. He had never allowed the grief to come; there was always, _always so much to be done_ , someone who wanted him, somewhere he had to be... Bard tried to take a deep breath, and did his best to pull himself together, to push it away once more, but it was becoming a losing battle. And this upset him even more, because he did _not_ want to be seen crying up here, in front of the whole bloody city! He looked over to Thranduil with pleading eyes; unable to speak.

When Thranduil stepped up next to Bard at the and put his hands on the Eastern Parapet, he followed Bard's gaze and saw the work being done. The sadness of it pierced his heart. The markers of his dead had already been sadly sent back to his Realm. In a selfish way, Thranduil was relieved to not be there, to witness the initial grief and hear the cries of the mourning.

When he had first returned as King, after struggling with his father's death, he barely managed to make it through his first task in the Woodland Realm: facing his people with so few of their loved ones remaining, and officiating at the ceremonies to honor the dead. There would be another ceremony upon his return this time as well, and he was dreading it. Thranduil always felt the heavy weight of guilt when he ordered his soldiers into battle, knowing that some would be going to their deaths. He dreaded listening to the songs, and the sounds of mourning. That sadness would never leave him, nor should it for any good King, for that matter. That pain kept a King humbled enough to always consider carefully everything he would ask of his people.

Although there are some who refused to believe it, Thranduil Oropherion would _never_ place his elves into real danger for such a personal reason. Many outsiders saw Thranduil as cold, heartless, and selfish. Considering his emotional retreat, and his reluctance to treat with the bigger world, he could understand that reputation, but it simply wasn't so.

When he first brought his Army to Dale, it was solely to retrieving his wife's necklace, yes, but he never anticipated such a violent Battle. He thanked the Valar they were all there, but it was never his intention to risk the precious lives of his people.

Before he gave the order to move out, he and Feren met, and Thranduil explained his reasons, to which his Commander agreed. Their relationship was such that, if Feren thought that the lives of his Army was being needlessly risked, he would never hesitate to say so. It was his Commander's job to protect his Army. Thranduil had the power to order it without Feren's consent, of course, but he was never so arrogant or foolish to do so.

Thranduil had known there was only a handful of Dwarves in that mountain, and the size of his Army was only meant as a method to intimidate them. He had been so sure that there would be little to no bloodshed.

Another important reason for bringing so many was simply a military exercise. It had been centuries since they had been assembled and maneuvered on such a grand scale. Any opportunity to keep up such training would only serve to their benefit. The retrieval of the heirlooms of his House was a good excuse to sharpen their skills.

The fact remained, however, was that he had wanted that necklace _badly_ ; it was the last gift he had given to his wife, and it belonged to him, and to his son.

~o0o~

Several decades after Erebor was established, and trade relations between the Kingdoms of the North were good, Thranduil had taken the necklace to King Thror and made arrangements to have it repaired, as they were much more adept working mithril than his Elven smiths. He had originally had it made in Moria, just before it fell, so there had been nowhere to take it to have it fixed, before this. A fee agreement was reached, and it was left to be reworked. At that time, there was something off about King Thror. He could sense it, and his foresight told him that something terrible could happen to the Northern Kingdoms, if the Dwarven king didn't exercise extreme caution.

He had sent several missives to the King Under the Mountain, warning Thror several times that all that wealth, and the constant effort to amass even more, could attract the horrific creatures of Morgoth. But to no avail. The Sickness had overtaken the King Under the Mountain, and there was nothing to be done.

When he was refused the necklace, the Dwarves repaired for him, it was the last straw. He turned, with his entourage, left the Kingdom of Erebor and never looked back, furious.

When the Dragon did come, as Thranduil was afraid it would, Thranduil immediately sent as much aide to the people of Dale as possible. It pained him to learn of Girion's death, along with most of his family. Only a small grandson had survived, and he was to be fostered by relatives. Dale was destroyed, and uninhabitable.

He came to the Dwarves as well, to offer aide with food and supplies that were left after the people of Dale were helped. Thranduil didn't feel remorseful about this. These Men were the priority, as they were innocent in all of this, and did nothing to bring this destruction upon them.

Thorin didn't see it that way. The Dwarf, angered from grief and starting to show signs of the Gold Sickness himself, demanded that he bring his Elven Army to the gates of Erebor and destroy Smaug immediately.

The mere mention of fighting the Dragon caused a visceral reaction in the Elvenking. Thranduil immediately paused the meeting, and after giving his officers a command, left to take a few minutes to recover, until his heart and breathing returned to normal. He, more than almost anyone else in the History of Middle Earth, knew intimately what was involved with such a task. He had lived for months in torture from the pain of it, with permanent scars to remind him. He flatly refused. Not only would he never risk going through that again, he wouldn't even consider putting his people in such danger.

Thorin, as Thranduil had expected, was furious, and many harsh words were exchanged between them. The Dwarf refused to see this as anything other than abandonment. Thranduil argued with the Dwarf for what seemed hours, trying to convince him of the futility of trying to kill Smaug. He tried to tell him about the Sickness that took his Grandfather, and warned him that he was showing signs as well.

Thorin told the Elf what exactly he could do with his measly offers of help, they would leave and get to the Blue Mountains without any assistance from these "faithless Elves" and that hoped that Thranduil would meet his end by a large log being placed in somewhere unmentionable. At this the Elvenking stalked out the room, and he and his guard left.

What Thorin had never knew, was that during that meeting, the Wood Elves were already busy distributing the medicine, food and blankets to the Dwarves, and Thranduil had been purposely continuing the argument with Thorin to buy them more time. Just because their King was mad, didn't mean that his people should suffer needlessly. The Dwarves, desperate, hungry and cold, took the help that was offered and, for a fleeting time, reconsidered their suspicion and prejudice against the Eves. Sadly, it didn't last. Thranduil had immediately written to Elrond, telling him of Smaug's arrival, as well as the Sickness he suspected in Thror's grandson. Hopefully Elrond could help prevent Thorin from returning.

~o0o~

His mind turned back to the subject at hand. Again, so many were being made to pay the price for the Gold Sickness of the Dwarves. It made him angry, but even he had to see that something like the Sickness caused madness, and all came from it was madness as well. The real source of all this evil was the Sauron himself and his minions.

Then he had a revelation: perhaps he was _meant_ to come with his entire Army, and the Dwarven Army from the Iron Hills were _meant_ to come, as well. What would have happened if they had not been there, when the Were-Worms first burst up out of the ground, and the swarms of Orcs appeared? Sauron had been planning that attack long before Thorin reached Erebor. Could the Valar, having seen this, orchestrate it so that the three Armies, as well as the Eagles, would be waiting for them?

When Bard started speaking of all losses of his people, the despair and guilt within the Bowman was palpable, and he completely understood it. The two spoke a bit about the purposes of the Valar, but it brought no comfort to him. Bard had such a heavy, heavy burden on his shoulders, made worse by never having the time, nor the training, for it.

When Bard looked to Thranduil, silently begging him for help, it was clear to Thranduil that he was quickly losing his equanimity, and needed some privacy and protection from things for a little while. He knew all too well what this was like, and would give it to him.

"Come, Bard." Thranduil leaned in to whisper to him. "I think we could both use a quiet drink, don't you? Here." He put his arm around Bard's shoulder. "Come with me." He turned the Bowman around and gave both his and the Bowman's guard some instructions in his language. Daeron left, and the Elvenking's guards escorted them rapidly through the streets and into the warmth of Thranduil's tent. Galion had done well to keep the lamps lit, as the light will be a source of comfort.

He had intended to sit Bard down at the table and pour him a large drink, but before he had the chance, the Man turned and crumpled into the Elvenking's arms, knees buckling, and started to weep in earnest, holding on to Thranduil for dear life. He caught Bard, as he collapsed, and held him tightly, stroking his back, as he pressed his face to the Elf's chest, and sobbed as if he would never be able to stop.

The Man needed to let down; to find release. So much had happened to him in such a short number of days, and so many were looking to him for survival. He was so weary, burdened, and he felt isolated in this new role thrust upon him. Thranduil knew exactly how he felt. _You_ _will_ _not do this all alone_ , Thranduil silently promised him. He continued with his ministrations, his arms around him, rubbing his hand up and down Bard's back, all the while, uttering words of comfort in Sindarin. " _Nîr lle nesta-uva fe_ _̈_ _a, mellon ni_ _̂_ _n. Thenin lle, Bard._ _Thel lle pul-beleg maer aran_. _Thel lle_."

While he was holding Bard so close, his warm body holding on so tightly, with his arms around Thranduil's waist, the Elf reflected that it had been many centuries since he himself had known physical comfort of any kind. Since Mírelen had been killed, almost no one even touched him. He had held others at bay, keeping himself locked away. His words of reassurance to Bard were correct: These tears _will_ heal his spirit, just as his own tears shed on Ravenhill had begun to wash away his pain.

After a long time, Bard started to calm down. There were only single chairs in the meeting area, and Bard was still leaning heavily into him, so Thranduil gently led him through the entrance to the sleeping area. He urged Bard to remove his coat, giving him some assistance as the man was still trying to gain his composure. He helped him off with his boots, and urged him over to sit against the headboard.

Like Galion had done for him earlier, Thranduil went out to the meeting area and grabbed two goblets and the wine decanter, and returned, putting them on the bedside table. He poured generous helpings into the chalices, removed his cloak, then sat down on the edge of the bed to remove his boots. Before he positioned himself beside Bard, he went into the bathing area, wet a cloth and handed it to Bard to wipe his face. Bard took it gratefully, and soothed his eyes with it, and blew his nose.

Handing over a cup wine, he said, "Here, drink this, it will help." Bard took the glass and took a sip, his breath still coming in gasps. As he calmed, he kept drinking, and finished it. He handed it to Thranduil, who gave him a large refill.

"It's funny, I can't seem to catch my breath tonight. This is the second time someone has had to calm me down before I pass out."

"Oh?"

"Aye, I had the worst nightmare, and your guards saw to me. I was almost afraid to go back to sleep - that's why you found me up on the rampart."

"I am not surprised. With all you have seen and done, no one could be unscathed. Many of my soldiers are afflicted with such nightmares." Thranduil hesitated, then said, "I must confess something to you, Bard. The same reason brought me to the Tower, as well." He didn't feel at ease sharing things like this, but perhaps the Bowman would find comfort in it.

"You too? I'm sorry. I didn't know that's why you were there." Bard was feeling guilty. "I really shouldn't be dumping my woes on you; not when you've got your own to deal with. I should go..." Bard started to move to get up.

"Peace, Bard. It is fine. In fact, I was rather glad to see you. It would seem that misery loves company." Thranduil pulled him back into place as he took a long drink.

"You may be right about that. I admit, I was happy to see you, too. It's been a horrid night, all the way around, so I guess we wretches best get through it together. Better than being alone." A thought struck Bard. "My children…"

"Do not worry - your children are taken care of. I sent your guard to notify Tauriel, and she will stay with them. She will get them up in the morning, if need be. I thought you you might not want them to see you like this."

Bard gave a sigh of relief, and sat back again. "No mistake about that. I don't want _anyone_ to see me like this."

"Which is why I had the guards in front of us, and we moved as quickly as possible to give you some privacy. I, too, detest the idea of losing my composure publicly."

"Thank you for that. I mean it."

"You are most welcome, Bowman. You may stay here as long as you need. You have the distinct look of one who was weeping, and I am sure you are not in the mood to be asked for an explanation."

"That's very observant." Bard gave a small laugh, his breathing finally becoming normal.

They sat for some time, relaxing and drinking. Thranduil wanted to distract him, so he told him of how the Elves think about the stars, and how the Valar they favor was Elbereth, and Yavanna, who ruled over the trees. Bard seemed fascinated and told him what he was taught about them, but the people of Laketown had an affection for Ulmo, the Valar of the seas. It was pleasant to chat about nothing important, for a change. The distraction seemed to work, because Bard was visibly relaxed, his breathing was more even. He thanked Thranduil again for his kindness to him.

"I can't remember when I had someone look after me like this. Usually I'm always the one taking care of everybody. Especially my family. I've had to, since my wife died."

"I am truly sorry for your loss." Thrandiul truly was. He remembered Bard mentioning it when they had their interview near the river, several years ago.

"Thank you. I heard your wife died long ago, and I was sorry to hear about that."

They both sat in silence for several minutes, drinking and thinking.

"What was her name? Bard was curious, and the question was spoken without thinking, which, by the look on Thranduil's face, he had realized too late. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't be asking things like that."

Thranduil paused. When was the last he spoke of his wife? He closed his eyes.

Looking up, Bard saw this, and apologized again, looking to change the subject, but he shook his head.

"No, it is fine; I was just thinking how long it has been since I spoke her name." Thranduil marveled.

"Can you tell me when that was?"

A sigh. "Since she died."

"Really?" He was curious, but not judgmental. "Is this tradition amongst the Elves?"

"It would be convenient for me to say yes, but, no, it is not. That is to say, how we handle our grief varies among my people, just as it does yours. However, you must understand that grief for an Elf is different than for Men."

"How?"

"I don't know how much you know about my people, but Elves oftentimes handle their grief in a…dissimilar way." Thranduil paused. "But that is a talk for another time, I think. What _do_ you know about Elves?"

"I know almost nothing about your kind, but I would like to learn more. I think, as King, it would be helpful to learn as much as I can about the you and the Dwarves."

"You are correct in this idea; Girion had made it his business to learn about every culture that would affect his Kingdom."

"Before this," Bard continued, "I only met you that one time, and I would meet up with your men, when they would pick up your barrels, and even then, they didn't say much. I think only one knew Westron so the languages were a problem. Otherwise, that's it. You Elves have pretty much kept yourselves to yourselves. You always have."

Thranduil gave Bard a wry smile. "Not always. Before the Dragon came, there was much commerce between our races. I made the trip to Dale on many an occasion, and King Girion was a good host. He was a good man and I can see a lot of him in you. You look very much like him."

"Daeron just said something to me about him. I know you all are immortal beings, but I have to admit, it's hard to get my mind around you knowing him. Or being in this city when it was at its best. It boggles my mind." He held up his cup and gave a short laugh. "It's not hard to boggle my mind, drinking this stuff! But it's good for what ails me, I can tell you that." He held it out for Thranduil to refill, which he did. He poured one for himself, as well, and they drank for a couple of minutes.

"I do remember Dale," Thranduil reflected. "I remember this land before Garon the Founder came, before the Lonely Mountain was fashioned into the Dwarven city of Erebor, as well. Immortality is a difficult concept to grasp for a Man such as yourself, I know this. But please, Bard, I do not want it to make you uncomfortable. It is just who we are."

He looked over at the Bowman thoughtfully. He had come to really enjoy the camaraderie with the King of Dale. It was filling some of emptiness he had lived with, for far too long. Was it just camaraderie? All he knew was that it felt good to be sitting beside him like this, and sitting together on his bed, brought other thoughts to his mind…

Thranduil hesitated a bit, then said what was on his mind. "I know you and I are very different, but I do not want that to stop us…from being friends." Nervously, he pretended to be interested in the wine in his cup.

"I don't think it will, Thranduil." Bard spoke softly, turning his head toward him.

Thranduil looked into Bard's eyes, so like the colors of his forest; deep and captivating. Bard looked back at him; penetrating the Elf's gaze, each searching the other, for answers to unasked questions.

Then Bard turned his shoulders toward him and slowly lifted his hand to the Elf's cheek. Thranduil closed his eyes, leaning into the touch, then opened them to meet Bard's again.

They sat very still for several moments, then Bard slowly, slowly leaned in to him, his eyes taking in the details of his face. The Elvenking watched, as Bard's gaze lingered intensely at his lips. Thranduil's heart started to pound, hard; he brought his hand to Bard's chest and felt the same rapid heartbeat in the Bowman. Their noses met, and gently rubbed together, and their eyes closed, breathing faster. Lips nuzzled his, back and forth slowly, and so softly it tickled, sending a thrill through him. _Oh, Stars, this is so_ …, he couldn't finish the thought, because then Bard was kissing him, and all he could do was _feel_.

Taking a deep breath through his nose. Thranduil leaned into the kiss, and more life flowed through him. He blindly placed his goblet on the bedside table, then his hand moved to stroke Bard's black hair, running his fingers through his curls. Bard moaned, deepened the kiss, his tongue moving against his teeth, seeking entrance, which was granted eagerly. With a small whimper, Thranduil opened his mouth wider to take him in, feeling sensations all over his body, especially in his lower belly. They shifted towards each other, kissing harder and harder, seeking, finding, feeling. Oh, it was _wonderful._

They broke apart, panting, foreheads pressed together, eyes closed and mouths open. Thranduil took Bard's cup, placed it next to its mate, and turned back to him, kissing his forehead, nuzzling his nose, and then brought his mouth to Bard's once again, reveling in the taste of him. Reveling in the feel of this warm, strong body next to him. Reveling in the slow opening of a heart that had been closed for years upon years upon years.

Bard was kissing the ancient King of the Woodland realm, and he could hardly believe it.

It didn't seem real. It _couldn't_ be real, but it was _Thranduil's_ body under his hands, it was _his_ icy blonde hair that ran through Bard's fingers, it was his arms, his hands, his fingers stroking Bard's hair, and his mouth, that magnificent mouth, was exploring Bard's with a passion was matching his own. Parts of Bard, both inside and out, that he thought were long-since dead, were coming to life again. He moaned into the Elf's mouth, and it only seemed to excite them further.

 _Oh, bloody fuck…_ With a loud, deep grunt, he grasped Thranduil with both arms, and pulled them down onto the bed, lying flat, with Bard's body straddling his. He grabbed Thranduil's wrists and placed them over his head, holding them, and planted his lips back on the Elf with a new determination, mouths parted. He heard Thranduil moan again; a sweet sound that send jolts of desire through him. He began to nibble on the Elf's earlobe, then slowly ran his tongue along the outside, up, up until he reached the pointed tip, and-

" _A, Ma_ " Thranduil gasped, and Bard could feel the Elf's hardening member underneath his clothes. He thrust his hips against Thranduil's with a low groan, eyes closed. He nipped the tip of his pointed ear again, and the Elf's body curled upwards, with a delighted yelp, _I'm going to have to remember this one,_ he smiled to himself, still playing with the Elf's ear, who responded by wrapping one of his long, long, legs around him, pulling him down hard, as they moved against each other.

Thranduil's hands broke free and took Bard's face in them, found his mouth again, and kissed Bard like he had _never been kissed in his entire life_. It was deep, hard, and _glorious_. He moaned deeply, his eyes closed tighter to wallow in all that this kiss was bringing him. He opened his mouth wider to take in even more, reaching for more, as their tongues danced together; as their hips danced together.

The kiss eventually ended, and Thranduil's light grey eyes met his own, searching, intense, as if he was trying to give Bard his soul, wanting Bard to take it and lovingly bring it back into the light. He found that he was silently asking the Elvenking to do the same for him. Bard looked down at him, full of wonder and desire. It's been so long since he felt this way. He was rock hard, and was loving the sensation of rocking against Thranduil, making them both want each other more.

Not since Mattie died had he held someone like this. Or felt like this. He wanted so badly to lose all control and give Thranduil everything they both wanted, everything his own body was screaming for. He lowered his head to kiss Thranduil once more, wanting to stay forever in this world that was only them. He loved the feel of this Elf, his warmth, hands on Bard's body. Everything felt perfect. He let his heart fly and his body respond. He wanted this to last forever. He wanted to rip their clothes off and be with him in every way possible. _Valar it felt so good…_

Unwanted, and unbidden, thoughts of his children came to the forefront of his mind.

Oh, _shit_ … _shit!_

Bard, reluctantly, raised his head and broke apart from that splendid mouth. He pressed their forehead's together, mouths open, breathing heavily into the other's air, for several moments. He rubbed their noses together and smiled. "You are _so_ beautiful."

"As are you, _Meleth nîn_." Thranduil smiled softly up at him, stroking the back of his hand over his cheek, and tracing the lines of his throat. Bard closed his eyes, breathing deeply, and let his senses take it all in. He took the Elf's hand in his, and gave its palm a long kiss. He looked down into Thranduil's eyes, at his lips, no - better not do that, and back up to look into that sea of light grey. Then he forced himself to do what every cell in his body was begging him not to.

"I want you. I do. You have no clue how much I want this. But…this…can't be just about loneliness and too much wine, Thranduil. This should be done right. I've got my children to think on, and Dale, and…well, everything. I want this to be the right thing for both of us, because I would never…" He tried to find the right words. "I can't let this be an impulsive mistake, because we were reckless, and rushed into things. I'm so sorry." With a frustrated groan, and several curses, Bard rolled off the Elf, laying on his side to face him, head propped up on his elbow.

Thranduil seemed to be joining Bard in his suffering; he could see him trying to control his breathing, disappointment on his face. Then, the Elf rolled on his side to face Bard, and softly laid his hand on his jaw, and ran his thumb softly across his lips. "I also want you, and it is very difficult to end this," he whispered. "But you are right; we must."

Thranduil spoke in a soft, baritone voice, that vibrated in his body, and Bard couldn't help but feel another wave of desire, and his loins protested once more at being so rudely forced to abandon its pursuit. _Oh, Valar, I want this Elf. I want him…_

He knew it was right to stop; he hated that fact, but it was true, nonetheless. Thranduil was as frustrated as he was, but he turned to face Bard, and tried to reassure him.

"I understand, Bard. Please believe me. As much as it pains me to admit. This is too important. You know very little about Elves, and what something like this means to my kind. There are complications that I need to consider as well. I do not want anything but what is good for both of us and our people. I think we both need be cautious and careful."

Giving Thranduil a chaste kiss on his lips and a small kiss on his nose, Bard rolled flat onto his back again and tried to calm his body and his heart down, and turn his mind to other things besides the desirable, stunning Elf beside him. He noticed that Thranduil was attempting to do the same, on his back, staring up at the roof of his tent.

 _If_ _ **anyone**_ _from Laketown doubts my devotion after this, I'm going to knock their fucking teeth in,_ he groaned to himself.

"Would you like some more wine?" Thranduil turned to face him.

"I would." He turned back towards the Elf with a grin. "But only if you promise not to get me drunk and take advantage of me."

"You have my solemn word, I will do no such thing. But you cannot prevent me from thinking about it." Thranduil's wide smile was beautiful, showing his white, perfect teeth. Bard had never seen him like this, and if it were possible for him to be even more stunning, he accomplished it.

They both moved to the top of the bed to sit side-by-side again, and Thranduil poured them each another cupful, and handed his to him.

Bard was enjoying the feel of this mattress, and the warm body beside him; he leaned over and placed another kiss on the side of Thranduil's neck, behind his ear. He couldn't help himself.

"I thought we agreed that we were going to proceed carefully, Bowman."

"I am, I am! It's your fault you know. Just…stop sitting there, being so gorgeous. You're making things tough, and you're doing it on purpose! If you would just chop off all this beautiful hair and stop smelling so damned good…"

A genuine belly-laugh came from the Elf, this time. Again, something that Bard had never seen. Again, his cock twitched, punishing him for his foolishness. _Shit_. That was _not_ helping.

"And how do you know that I am not having the same dilemma Bowman?" Thranduil jabbed Bard with his elbow.

"Well, if it's anything like my struggle, then I truly pity you." Bard held out his goblet to salute him, and drank the entire contents.

Thranduil's eyes blinked open. The light outside was illuminating the walls of his tent. Noises of the morning's bustle could be heard. Slowly, he became more aware of his surroundings. He was lying on his side, facing the tent wall, but he wasn't wearing his usual nightshirt; he was still wearing his tunic and leggings. There was something different. His back was delightfully warm, and something enveloped him. He also heard soft snoring-

Bard was cuddled up behind him, also fully clothed, his arm wrapped around the Elvenking's middle, breathing softly into the back of his neck. And it felt perfect.

He smiled to himself, thinking of all that occurred last night. He had truly never intended for things to happen as they did; he had no thought of taking advantage of Bard when he took him back to sit down in the bed. There was no suitable furniture in his meeting area that could accommodate the two men, so he brought him in here, thinking that Bard could just relax and rest after he had calmed down, before he would leave to go back to his tent.

That doesn't mean to say he _didn't_ wishit to happen. Ever since he rode into Dale and saw Bard, he knew there was _something_ that stirred him. He still wasn't quite sure what it all meant. But it would seem, to Thranduil's delight, that Bard had been stirred by something as well.

Thranduil pulled the arm tighter around him and sighed. He had never been held by someone like this; to sleep so, in such a protective embrace. He had slept alone, felt alone, _was_ alone for so long he had completely forgotten what it could be like. He lay like this, for a while, eyes closed, luxuriating in the warmth and comfort, wishing he never had to get up.

As much as it displeased him to admit, Bard was right about proceeding with caution. As Kings, everything they did would affect other people, particularly Bard's children. He was delighted that Bard wanted to take things in careful steps. It showed Thranduil that he was thinking seriously about the two of them. If the Man was only looking for physical gratification, he wouldn't have stopped himself. He also could have found release with someone else for a night or two, but Thranduil didn't think so.

His senses told him Bard was the same as he was; alone, lonely, but also needing his heart to be involved in anything he did. Elves were like that. Bard had no idea of what sex actually means to an Elf, and he didn't wish to put pressure on Bard about it now. It had nothing to do with the fact that Bard was a man. Elves have never had stigmas attached to the gender of prospective mate, as was seen in other places of Middle Earth. They did not gossip about other's private lives, either.

A stirring behind him. Then a small snort (which was adorable), then he felt Bard stretch himself awake, moving the arm from Thranduil's waist to finish his stretch, then raise himself up on his elbows. Thranduil's body ached in protest as the warmth of the Bowman's body left his back. The Elf rolled over and moved up to sit. He found himself suddenly feeling vulnerable; the urge to retreat inside himself, like he always did, was instinctual.

 _What if Bard felt differently, now that he had a good night's sleep? What if it was just the wine? What if he regrets it?_

He looked down at his hands, suddenly finding them interesting.

"Good morning," said a sleepy voice.

Thranduil looked over to see his face. Bard was smiling up at him, from his elbows, then rubbed one of his eyes. He gave a cautious smile back. "Good morning, how did you sleep?"

"Like a log. That wine is pretty potent stuff."

"It can be. I'm used to it, but sometimes it affects me too." Thranduil still wasn't sure, and he couldn't stop his anxiety

Bard laughed, and sat up, facing the Elvenking. He leaned over, kissed the Elf on his temple, then his cheek, and stroked his hair. "Look at you!" He laughed, "I didn't know your hair could get so messy!" He teased.

Thranduil could have kissed him, he was so relieved. So, putting his hand around the back of Bard's neck and drawing him close, that's exactly what he did.

"I would like to point out that yours is just as messy," he gave Bard a wry smile.

"I don't doubt it. It's like taming a beast, most mornings. I wish mine was straight, like yours."

"Do not ever wish that. I like your hair the way it is. I like the wildness of it. You should keep it this way."

"I will, so long as you keep yours that way. I've never seen you with a hair out of place!"

"Well then, it seems we will always be caring for our hair as normal, because I will _never_ be seen looking like this."

"I'm shocked," Bard deadpanned. Then he rubbed his forehead and temples.

"Do you have a headache from the wine?"

"I do, actually. Don't worry about it, though. I've had much worse in my younger days, and I've lived to tell the tale."

"Here, let me. Close your eyes." Thranduil placed a hand on Bard's forehead, and closing his eyes, said a few sentences in Quenya. As he was repeating them, his skin took on an ethereal aspect, and the light from his hand rested on Bard where he was touching him. When he was finished, the Bowman's eyes opened, and he was faced with a wide-eyed stare of astonishment.

"It's gone! I knew elves did that, but I've never seen it. Sigrid told me about Tauriel healing that Dwarf on my kitchen table. You had this glow about you, like she did." Bard marveled.

"You are welcome."

After planting a loud smack against his cheek, Bard moved to get up. "Come on, then, we've got a lot to take care of today, so we'd better get started, I suppose. I need a wash, and to visit the necessary. I'm very hungry, too. But first things first; I need to rinse out my mouth with some water. After all that fancy booze last night, it feels like a rag was stuffed in it."

Thranduil smiled at him. "I hope you don't mind, but I also made an attempt to heal your morning breath, but alas, to no avail." It really wasn't that bad, but he couldn't resist.

"What makes you think _your_ breath isn't just as bad?"

"Because I am an Elf, of course." Thranduil raised an eyebrow.

"Are you always going to use that as an excuse?" Bard regarded him, raising his own eyebrow.

"That is my plan."

His reply was a pillow smacked in his face.

 **NOTES:**

Sindarin Phrases:

 _Nîr lle nesta-uva fe_ _̈_ _a, mellon nin_ – Your tears will heal your spirit, my friend.

 _Thenin lle. –_ You are strong.

 _Thel lle pul-beleg maer aran_. - You will be a mighty King, Bard.

 _Thel lle, gweston_ – You will, I promise.

" _A, Ma_ " - Oh, yes!


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

 **Ruins of Dale, 28th of November 2941 T.A.**

After breakfast, Bard left Thranduil's tent to go to his own, for his daily reports from Percy and Hilda. The children had already been fed and gone for the day, so they sat down at the table in his tent and went over items that were pertinent and pressing. All the rest could wait until after the ceremonies tomorrow. It didn't look like it was going to rain for the next several days, Bard told them, so things should go well.

"How can you be sure?" asked Hilda.

"King Thranduil has a knack for such things. He knows the trees, I guess, and he also knows the weather. Which reminds me. I should tell you, he's predicted a harsh winter, which will be coming soon." Bard gave a wry laugh. "As if we needed more to deal with."

"We sure don't! What are we gonna to do? We have the sick, and the children, and the orphans. How are we gonna survive?" Hilda exclaimed.

Bard had the same fears as they did, probably as all his people did. "I don't know, Hil. I really don't. But I can promise you I'll do my best to get this settled before snows come." He addressed Percy. "Have you finished with the burying of the bodies? I hate to ask, but…"

Percy heaved a great sigh, and said. "The men on the night shift finished the job. Bard, I don't mind telling you that was one of the worst..." He fished his handkerchief out of pocket and wiped his eyes.

"I know, Pers. I hated asking you to do it. I saw it from the Tower last night." He put his hand on Percy's shoulder. "All the men assigned to that task are to be given some time off, if they want. It was bad enough to see it from up there. If I were to do it…"

"Aye, I'll see to it."

"Speaking of which, that's on the agenda today. We need to meet on the field after the Midday meal to rehearse the funeral some. The King's Chief Aide will also be there. We're going to combine them, to hopefully show respect for all that fought together."

"I like that. What about the Dwarves?"

"Some'll be there as guests, but they've got a tomb at the bottom of the mountain for such things. The King and I are going the day after as guests. Thranduil is bringing Feren and Galion as his Aides. Which is another thing I want to bring up with you. I want you two to come as the same for me."

Percy and Hilda were flabbergasted. "Bard! We can't go to something like that. That's just for royalty and all. The only reason you're invited is you're the Leader of Dale!"

"Well, this is another thing I need to talk to you two about…"

Then Bard told them about all that was discussed four days ago, and about how his lineage made him King, whether he liked it or not. That he'd actually been a King for about a month, he just hadn't known it. And, finally, as there was no other way to see to the future of Dale the way they were all hoping to, that he had accepted his fate and will be crowned.

If the older couple were stunned before, that was nothing compared to this. All they could do was stare at him, as if he had suddenly grown other heads on each side of his shoulders. And the staring went on, with their mouths hanging open.

Of course, it was Hilda who first found something to say.

"A King? _A KING?"_

"Shh! Quiet down! I don't want anyone to know yet!"

"Why not? You're a KING for Valar's sake! _A Ki-."_ Hilda stopped herself and took a deep breath. "I can't believe it! Why didn't you tell US about your family? Bard! We're your friends!" She was visibly hurt, as was Percy.

"I couldn't tell anyone. The Master hated me already for marrying Mattie out from under his nose. You know he had it out for me ever since then, and I'm surprised he hasn't gotten after you two more for associating with me. Besides, I had no right to do anything about it anyway. I'd forgotten about it, to be honest. To me, it was just stories Mam and Da told me when I was a kid. I never thought about it, until after Da died and I found the Black Arrow amongst his things. To me, was a family heirloom, not a sign of power. The children didn't even know about it until the night the Dragon came."

"So, when are you going to tell our folks?"

"After the funerals. I don't want anything to take away from that. Besides, I was thinking…"

"…that our folks need somethin' good to think on after the wretchedness of buryin' the dead." Percy said, and nodded in approval.

"Exactly. Which brings me to another request, and I want you two to think on this before you answer. I'd like to give you official positions in the Kingdom. I'll end up living in Girion's castle, and I'll need someone I can trust to run things there, Hilda. It's a big job, and there will be lots of things you'll have to learn about, but I need someone that'll be loyal, and who can keep their mouth shut. I won't have a gossip in that position, and I won't have someone who tolerates it from the rest of the staff.

"I also want you to oversee the children's education. Not just mine, but all of them in Dale. I'm not asking you to teach them; you won't have the time for that, but I need someone to be in charge of the teachers. You could appoint someone, and he or she could be answerable to you. But, I'll need progress reports and arrangements to be made for teachers to be brought from other lands, when possible, to educate them about different culture and their language. Also, if there are any grown men or women who want to learn to read and write, I want to have them taught. The Master played on ignorance to keep himself in power. He squashed any attempts a formal school system in Laketown, and I won't do that.

"Percy, I'm asking you to be my Chief Aide. I need someone by my side constantly, to oversee a lot of paperwork that'll be put in front of me, and to make sure I'm aware of what's going on in Dale. I want to know what everybody needs, and I'll not have anyone falling through the cracks in the walkway because they're left to suffer alone. I won't run a country and have it end up like Laketown. I want every single person to know that they're cared about, and won't be forgotten! I'd want you to appoint a Chief Healer, and have 'em get started on a Healing Hall, and see what needs to be done to train more of them.

"We'll eventually need a proper army of our own. I'll need your help in overseeing the military, when it comes to that. For now, the Elves will be doing what they can to protect us, but our men will need to be properly trained, if we're to be independent, one day. That won't be for a long while; there's nothing else to be done on that. In the meantime, Thranduil intends to keep some of the Elves over the winter, and to help with the rebuilding, and guard us. I know you're the one who'll keep what goes on in my study or meetings to yourself, and you'll make sure papers will be only seen by the eyes they're supposed to.

"And," he looked at both of them. "There'll be more pomp and ceremony than any of us will like, but I'll need help with protocol and procedure, and I won't have time to research all that by myself. Once the city has been fully restored, other people will come, some to visit, and some to stay. I need to be up on the customs of all these places, so we make them feel welcome. I also want them to know that we are proud of our people, and that we have the ability to run this Kingdom and keep it running for hundreds of years.

"I want you two ba cause you have only the best in mind for our people. There's a lot to be done, and even more I want to see done. From what I've heard so far, the Dwarves are planning on giving us more than our fair share of the treasure, and if all goes right, we can do this. If this is where we've ended up, then we must make the most of it. The next five years will tell us if we can succeed or fail. You are my greatest friends, and I hope you say yes, because I honestly don't know if I'll can do all this without you."

Percy looked at Hilda; Hilda looked at Percy, then they both turned to look at him.

"Where'll we be living if we're supposed to be doing all of this?"

"There is more than enough room in the Palace. You would have your own set of rooms."

"We'd be living in the Castle?"

"Yes, if you're willing."

"I don't know about the old man, here, but a Palace sounds nice…" Then Hilda smiled. "Of course, we'll do it, Bard!" She patted his arm. "Wouldn't trust it to anyone else."

Bard wanted to throw his arms around both of them. So, he did.

The arrangements for tomorrow were mostly set, reflecting the strengths and traditions of both cultures. There was just the quick trip down to the fields for an hour or two, so they all could walk through the proceedings several times to make sure everything goes smoothly. At first, Bard had balked at this, but Thranduil and Galion told him tomorrow will be difficult - plus, he's never officiated anything, let alone something on such a grand scale. Their people were looking to them to honor their dead in the best way possible, and this effort would ensure it.

"It will be much harder than you can guess, Bard, and you need to be prepared for it. Lord Percy and Lady Hilda will need the practice as well." Thranduil told him. After they returned from the fields, having gone through all the steps, Bard could see the wisdom in his words.

Hilda was doing her best to avoid Thranduil, Bard said. She wasn't used to the idea of Bard being an actual King, and she was nervous and flustered around the Elvenking. They both found it amusing - Hilda was an force to be reckoned with, almost as intimidating as Thranduil himself, when he wanted to be. The image of her quaking in her boots about anything seemed ridiculous.

Galion and Hilda had already spent a great deal of the time talking. They worked together to coordinate the Children's Tent, and several other matters, and had a good rapport. The older couple were going to be performing the duties that Galion has done for thousands of years, so there were plans, for them to work with closely him intensely to train them. The Chief Aide liked Percy and Hilda and was glad to be of help.

There was just this first winter to get through. He and Bard were going to have to talk about that. Some concerns and ideas were coming to his mind. Bard may not initially like them, but at the moment, Thranduil could think of nothing else. All of that will have to wait until a week after the ceremonies. The all-important negotiations with the Dwarves needed to take place.

It won't be as terrible as he had originally thought. Most of the actual negotiations will be done with Balin, the sensible one, with final approval from Dain, who planned only to be present at the first meeting, then for the final signatures. Since all Thranduil wanted was his wife's necklace, he had set his mind more towards making sure Bards gets everything that is coming to him, which he suspected, will be more than Bard thinks he needs. These matters will wait.

In the meantime, he is going to simply enjoy Bard's company, as he was sitting across the table from him.

"Would you like something to drink, Bard? It has been a long day." He could see that Bard had something on his mind.

"Just some water please. No, wait… I've changed my mind - I'll take some wine after all, but just a little. That stuff hit me hard last night on an empty stomach, but it might help my nerves." The man sighed, deeply. "I'm really not looking forward to tomorrow."

"I feel the same way. Those things will never get easier, I'm afraid."

"Well, you would know." Bard looked down at his drink for a minute or two, and Thranduil could tell he had something on his mind. "I was thinking about what you said last night, Thranduil, about the Valar. I see what you're saying now, about how all this happened, and how they look after us, and I think you're right. It does help, a little."

"I am glad." Thranduil nodded. This wasn't it. There was something else…

"I was also thinking about you and me." Bard looked up at him, as he was filling Bard's goblet. "I…really enjoyed…all that…with you, you know."

"I am glad about that, too." Thranduil said softly, looking into those eyes, so like his trees; brown like the branches he loved to climb, and green like the leaves that move in the wind. He loved looking at them. Now, though, those eyes were troubled, and Bard took a deep breath.

"I'm worried, Thranduil. I've got to tell you this; as much as I enjoyed it, and want this… _thing_ between us to work – and I _really_ do - what's happening with my city has got to work. It can't fail, or people could die." Bard blew out his breath, and looked down at his wine. "What if things go bad between you and me? What could happen to my people? I have to put them first. I don't want to…I'm afraid about taking any chances on my people's survival. Can you understand that?"

"Yes, I understand, Bard. But, it is not just your people, is it?"

"No. It's not. If what happens between us turns into something…. I don't know…I just know that my children have had me all to themselves for a long time. I can't just force someone into their lives, without making sure they're ready for it. I'm their father, and that has to come first, too. Even before the people of Laketown. I can't hurt them by a reckless, sudden change… I need to do this carefully, if we have any chance. Do you understand?"

Thranduil got up and walked to his chair, and took Bard's chin and raised it up to meet his gaze. "I give you my solemn promise to not only you, but to your children, and to your children's children, that nothing will affect my promise to help you. I hope you can believe that." He smiled at Bard. "In fact, you don't have to hope. One of the things that I plan to do is put my commitment to your people in writing. I had planned that even before last night. There are reasons for this, beyond what you want for your people." He looked at Bard seriously, willing him to have confidence in his words.

"Bard, no matter what happens between us, I vow to do my utmost to help your Kingdom succeed. Like you, I believe that Dale has got to be a viable and strong part of the North. Even if someone else had inherited this Kingdom, I would feel precisely the same way." He moved his hand to brush Bard's cheek with his thumb. "However, I must tell you that, for selfish reasons, I am glad it was you." He smiled down at the Bowman.

"As for your children, I completely agree. They do not know me, and I do not know them. Neither one of us are the kind to trifle with such things, and I would never refuse the same consideration I would want shown to my own children if they were young. It is early yet to even know what is between us, but I do know I wish to find out."

He moved in closer to Bard, and kissed him thoroughly. Bard stood up, and wrapped his arms around Thranduil and pulled him closer, deepening their kiss. Then they stood and held each other for several moments, each burying their faces in the other's neck. Thranduil reveled in every second of it. He was feeling warmed from the inside out, and the more he was given from this Bowman, the more he wanted…

He refused to think of how it could be that he wanted more of Bard. It was confusing and frightening, and...

...not possible. Yet, he couldn't stop his heart from reaching out for him, wanting to hold him close, and never, ever let go.

Bard sat at the table in his tent, watching his children eat their supper.

After they returned from the Children's area, they told him all about what they had done that day, and the stories that Tauriel had told all the children about her forest, and the Vala Yavanna, Queen of the Trees. Sigrid enjoyed helping with the little ones, but Bard sensed a restlessness in her. His girl had something on her mind. He would wait until she came to him about it, but if not, he'd seek her out.

Of course, they all wanted to know why he wasn't there, when they got up that morning. Tauriel had just told them what she had been instructed; that he had been called away in the night, nothing serious, she had told them, when they looked worried, but it required his presence.

Of course, they wanted details, which Bard had no intention of providing. "You're going to have to get used it. I may be called away many times, until we get things running better for our folk here. So, don't worry about your old Da, kids. All right?"

They seemed to have a good day with Tauriel and the other children, and the older two seemed to be throwing off the Battle a bit more. He was expecting setbacks, but, overall, he wasn't that concerned with Sigrid and Bain. He wished Tilda would show signs of her former, happy self; she was still withdrawn. Tauriel said she spoke a bit more today, and gave small little smiles, so surely that was an improvement, wasn't it? These first few days around all the other noisy children were proved to be too much, so Tauriel was leaving guards with the older two, and taking Tilda back to their tent in the afternoons, so they could quietly relax, and the little girl could nap, if she needed. Bard knew it would take time and patience, but he longed for some assurance that she hadn't been permanently damaged. He wanted his baby back.

"Da? What did you do today?" Sigrid looked at him, curiously. She was fifteen, and growing up so fast. Don't parents always say that? But these days, Bard knew why it was so true. His girl had her mother's looks, bearing, and her strong will. It felt impossible, because it seemed to him she was only born into this world moments ago; yet there she was, as tall as her mother had been, and a poignant reminder of the woman he loved.

"Me? Oh, nothing exciting, you'd be bored to hear about it." He had wondered about what he should say about the funerals; in the end deciding nothing, just in case it would trigger anxiety in them.

"But didn't you see the Elf King again today?" Bain looked up from his dish and waited for an answer, still shoveling food into his mouth. "Did you see his swords? And his armor?"

"Yes, I did. They are in his tent, on a stand."

"Really?" Bain exclaimed like any thirteen-year-old boy.

"Yes, really." Bard smiled at his son.

"How tall is he, really? All the Elves are tall, I mean, but he's really tall! I remember seeing some of them, and how they could jump and flip and…"

Sigrid piped up. "I saw some of them when we walked past the healing tents. I've never seen anything like it. I remember Tauriel when she was healing-"

Bard cleared his throat at the two, and jerked his head slightly in Tilda's direction.

"Sorry, Da. So, what are the things you talk about in your meetings? And no nasty stuff, please." Sigrid wasn't going to stop until her curiosity was satisfied.

Bard gave a laugh. "Oh, this and that. Things about getting Dale up and running, how to make sure we're safe until the building can start, what to say to the Dwarves when we start meeting with them, all kinds of stuff. Which reminds me: there is something important I need to talk to you Sea Monsters about. I found out something during our meetings I think you all should know."

All eyes were on him, even Tilda's.

Bard braced himself. He hadn't originally planned to tell his children of his title, and by extension, theirs, for quite a while yet, but they were bound to find out, and he wanted it to come from him. The guards constantly calling him 'My Lord' was certainly a clue that something was going on.

"It seems, kids, that Black Arrow of mine proved to the Elves and the Dwarves and even Gandalf, that I'm a descendant of Girion. That was why I kept it hidden, since your Grand-Da died, because the Master had enough reason not to like me, and I didn't need him making life any worse for us. If he knew that I came from Girion's family, he could've made things harder.

"Thing is, kids, as it turns out, I have that Arrow not only because I'm a descendant of Girion, the last King of Dale, but I am the descendant." Bard inhaled. "Which means that I'm Girion's heir, which also means... He paused for effect. "That I, Bard of Laketown, am now Bard, King of Dale." He stopped again, just to take in their faces. "And, if I am King of Dale, that means, that you, Bain, are the Crown Prince of Dale, and Sigrid and Tilda, you are now officially Princesses."

Absolute silence. They were frozen. Bain's hand was halfway up to his mouth, and his spoon fell out of his hand and clattered on his plate; he didn't even notice. Oh, this was the most fun he had had since…well, the wee hours of this morning, actually, with a certain tall, icy blonde Elf...

They still stared at him, mouths open, with eyes as big as their plates.

Bard shrugged casually. "Of course, if you kids don't want to be a Prince and Princesses, you don't have to, maybe we can arrange to…"

There was an explosion of noise all of a sudden, and their voices were talking at once. Eyes wide, disbelieving, babbling out questions so fast, that between them, he couldn't understand. He looked at Tilda, whose eyes were the brightest they had been since the Battle. Ignoring the other two, he pulled his chair out slightly, and held his arms out, for Tilda to come sit on his lap. She got down from her chair and came over, and crawled into his arms.

"Pipe down you two, I'll answer all of your questions in a minute, all right? Don't we want to see what Tilda has to say about this?" He looked at his baby, "What do you think, Little Bean? Would you like to be a princess?" She nodded at him, and he wrapped his arms around her and hugged her tight. But he wanted her to talk. "Do you have any questions?" She nodded again. "What do you want to know, Little Bean?"

"Will I have pretty dresses?"

Bard smiled at her and nodded. "Not right away, though, I'm sorry about that. Soon, this whole city is going to be rebuilt, and it's going to be all new again! Girion's Castle has to be all fixed up, and that's going to take some time. We have to make sure everybody else has a nice, warm place to live, first, don't we? All this is going to take a lot of work, even with the Elves and the Dwarves to help us. So, I'm asking you all to be patient; can you do that?" He looked around the table, waiting for their agreement, which he got. "Oh, that reminds me. When we do move into the Castle, guess who is going to come there to live with us?"

"Who?" Bain asked.

"Uncle Percy and Auntie Hil! They're going to be there every day." He smiled back to his littlest. "What do you think about that?"

This time Tilda smiled a little, and wrapped her arms around his neck. Sigrid and Bain gave a whoop and clapped their hands.

"Are you friends with the Elf King now, Da? What's he like? I mean, if you're a King too..."

"You're right, Sigrid. We are becoming good friends. He wants to help me learn how to be a good King, and he enjoys having someone around that isn't going bow and scrape to him all the time. But," Bard said pointedly, "I expect you three to mind your best manners around him. He is a King, after all, and I expect you to bow, Bain, and I expect you girls to curtsy to him, and use his title, and be very polite."

"But we're princesses!" Sigrid said, looking at Tilda, who looked to her Da for the answer.

"Ah, now, my Monsters, here comes the hard part of being Royalty. As Prince and Princesses, you must be even more polite to others, especially in public, no matter what. And you're all going to have things to do. I won't have any of my children sit around and be idle, expecting others to do for them." Their faces fell. "As King Thranduil says, 'A true King is a servant to his people.' His own father taught him that, and he is absolutely right. That also means that you three will help serve Dale, too. But I'm not worried; you're all good children, and I know you'll do your best. Won't you?" He turned to Tilda, still in his lap and booped her nose.

Another question. "Da? If you and the Elf King are friends, can we meet him? I want to meet him!" Bain said.

"I've got an idea!" Sigrid said. "Can he come here for supper? I think it would be nice! Do you think he would come?"

"I don't see why not. I can certainly ask him, if that's all right with the rest of you." There were eager nods all the way around. "Well, that's settled then. How about we finish our dinner, and start with the baths, yeah?"

It was a wonderful evening. It was the closest they had come to their normal life back in Laketown, when nothing out of the ordinary would be going on, and he had never appreciated it as much as he did now. He was devoted to his children, and he was happy to see smiles on their faces again. He'd come so close to losing them... He sighed, and give thanks.

"Da?" It was Sigrid. "Can I ask you for something?"

"What is it, Princess?" he teased. Tilda was taking her bath first, and Bain was on his cot, staring at the ceiling; no doubt thinking about Thranduil's swords, or princely things, or boyish things.

She smiled at this, and sat down, suddenly looking serious. She spoke quietly, not wanting the others to hear. "I'd like to go tomorrow. I think I should, and I want to."

"Are you sure? You've been through so much, and I wanted you children to be spared all that…"

"I know, Da. And you're right to spare the children, but I'm older, and as you said, I'm a Princess of Dale. I want to be there for our people and to be there for the Elves, too; they've helped us since we came here. Even if you hadn't told me about you being King, I was still going to ask to go." She put her hand on his. "I want to be there for you, too, Da. I know this is going to be hard, and I want to be with you."

Bard looked at his girl for long moment, as his eyes filled, and her imaged blurred . He swallowed and squeezed her fingers. "Thank you, darling. It would mean a lot to me."

Sigrid wasn't finished. "I want to ask you something else." Bard nodded, encouraging her to go on. "You were saying that you wanted us to have jobs. I've been thinking. I saw how the Healers and the Elves are helping everyone, and I think I want to learn how to do that, if you'd let me. I'm not squeamish, and I know it would be hard, but I want to try."

This girl never ceased to surprise him. He adored her strength and her steely determination, and he loved looking at that face that so reminded him of her mother. "All right, Sigrid, if that's what you really want, I'll see what can be set up to start your training." He smiled at her. "I'm proud of you, sweet girl, and I know your mother would be too. When did you get to be so grown up?"

She got up and kissed the top of his head. "I was born grownup. Just like Ma."

"Yes, you are, love." He grabbed her hand, and kissed it. "Your Ma will never truly be gone, as long as you're around. Always remember that."

She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tight. "I love you, Da."

"I love you too. Always."

After planting another kiss on his cheek, she turned to go wash her little sister's hair and help her out of her bath, and get Bain started. Soon, Tilda came over to him, and crawled on his lap. Her little sleeping outfit the Elves had provided for her looked toasty warm, and she had heavy slippers on her feet. She looked clean and warm and terribly cute. Her hair was still too damp though, so Bard had her get a towel, and a brush so he could dry her hair some more. After rubbing her head some, he was combing it out gently, Tilda started talking.

"Da?" She asked quietly.

"Yes, darling?"

"I'm glad you didn't die when the Orcs came."

Oh, did _that_ hurt to hear from those sweet, tiny lips! Bard tried to sound normal, which took a bit of effort.

"I'm glad too. And I thank the Valar every day that I have all you kids."

"I thought they killed you," she whispered, "I thought we were gonna be eaten by the Trolls..."

 _Oh, gods... Please help..._

"I know, Little Bean." He kissed her head, and kept combing out sections of her hair. "But, I want you to try to think on better things, okay? I'm here, Sigrid and Bain are here, and you still have Uncle Percy and Auntie Hil, don't you?" She nodded her head.

She didn't say anything for a minute or two. Then a wobbly little voice was heard.

"I miss Charlotte, Da." And a tear ran down her round cheek. He put the comb down and turned her around in his lap, and kissed her forehead.

"I know you do, love. I know." And he put his arms around her and pulled her to him as she started to cry. He held her tight, and rubbed her back and murmured sweet words to her quietly as she finally let her sadness flow out of her. Bard felt a tear on his face, too. As much as he hated to see his baby girl cry, he was happy to see her tears.

It meant that perhaps she might be all right.

 **Field of Desolation; 29th of November, 2941 T.A.**

Thranduil stood still as a stone statue. He had to.

If he moved, if he spoke, if he even so much as blinked, he would lose all control, and he cannot do that in front of his people who look to him to be a source of strength, steadfastness, and hope. It took almost all of his concentration just to breathe evenly; in and out, in and out…

He listened, as Feren listed the name of every ellon and elleth that sacrificed their lives in this battle.

He saw Bard standing with his people and one of his children, the oldest, he thought. What was her name again? He knew the boy looked the image of his father, and this girl must take after her mother, with her blue eyes and hair that was a light brown. He had his arm around her, and she leaned against her father, as they offered each other support.

Radagast, Beorn, Bilbo, and Dáin, King Under the Mountain, with a small contingent of his Dwarves, were also here, to pay their respects to the fallen. He could hardly stand the sight of Dáin, but he and his people were willing to pay their respects, not only to Bard's people, but to his own. Falling in battle against a common enemy, Elf, Man, and Dwarf gave equal sacrifices, and deserved equal consideration. The new King Under the Mountain understood this, which gave him hope for the Northern Kingdoms.

Bard's Second-in Command, Percy came forward to speak of the dead of their people; their courage and bravery and many things that were good about these Laketown folk. A large bell had been found, set up in a temporary frame, and struck once for each person on the list of dead or missing. The peals of the bell seemed to last forever, but, finally it ended, the last sound lingering on and on, until it faded into nothing.

It was decided by Bard and Hilda that there would be no reading of the names, for them. It simply wasn't their way. Even so, Bard told him that Percy wouldn't be able to read all those names and not fall apart, and neither could he.

Thranduil's people were soldiers, and they had known and accepted the dangers; Bard's people were not, and the idea of saying names of innocent people, especially children might be too much to bear right now. The people of Laketown's grief was palpable. The Elvenking marveled at how easily Bard's people held each other up, in solace. This was another sign of their strength, and another assurance that Dale will be revitalized and will eventually prosper.

The discipline and restraint of the Elven army was to be expected during this ceremony. Thranduil would soon face the open mourning of the wives, husbands, children, parents of his fallen, when he returned home for the services there, and their songs will be sung for a long time.

At the proper time in the ceremony, Bard and Thranduil stepped forward together, with Mithrandir between them. They slowly turned, and made their way to the mounds of earth where their people slept eternally, and stood for a long moment. Since there were no flowers to be had, two arrangements of evergreens and branches with autumn leaves had been fashioned; carried by Sigrid and Galion, who walked behind their Kings and the Wizard. Bard turned, and Sigrid stepped forward to hand her greens to him, and stepped back in place. He walked over to the center of the grave mound of the People of the Lake, reverently placed it, and bowed. He stood silently for a minute, and walked back to stand beside the Wizard, still facing the dead.

Thranduil did the same before the graves of his own dead and, in Elven tradition, placed his hand to his heart and extended out to them, and returned to his place beside the others.

Both Kings stood still for several long minutes. Both needed moments facing away from the crowds to try to gather their composure before turning to face their people once again. To no avail. When they turned back, Bard had tears on his face, and Thranduil's vision was blurred.

The Wizard, with the Kings on either side of him, paced back to the crowds. Then Bard stepped forward and said, with his voice proud and his bearing strong, a prayer for the dead that was common among his people.

"Oh, Eru, Father of All,

Ulmo, and all the Valar,

who spreads out the heavens

and rules the raging of the seas,

we beg you to gather and receive

into your love and protection,

all those who go to you this day.

Preserve their souls, and bring them to the haven

where they would be yours to cherish and protect,

Until we can be joined with them again in boundless joy."

Hilda then stepped to the front of the Laketown People, and led them in singing a song that was also well-known to them, "The Fisherman's Hymn to Ulmo." It was a sad song, but like the blessing that Bard gave, the words gave promise to seeing their loved ones again someday. Thranduil hadn't heard it before, and found it haunting and lovely.

It was time for him to step up and say the blessing over the Elves

 _"O, Eru Ilúvitar!_

 _Bannos hîr i firn!_

 _Hîr i thŷr a thûl!_

 _Tolo a dogo vín gwaith îdh vronadui._

 _Govano i nothrim în ah i mellyn în mi Mannos"_

Then Thranduil and all the Elves started to sing the Hymn of Varda, to guide their fëas to the Halls of Mandos. The last verse was sung in Westron, so all Free Peoples could join in wishing their loved ones a safe journey:

"A Elbereth Gilthoniel,

silivren penna míriel

o menel aglar elenath!

Na-chaered palan-díriel

o galadhremmin ennorath,

Fanuilos, le linnathon

nef aear, si nef aearon!

A Elbereth Gilthoniel!

o menel palan-díriel

le nallon sí di'nguruthos!

A tiro nîn, Fanuilos!

A! Elbereth Gilthoniel!

silivren penna míriel

o menel aglar elenath!

We still remember, we who dwell

In this far land beneath the trees,

Thy starlight on the Western Seas."

While the people of Laketown, as of this day, Dale, didn't understand most of the words, they felt strength and comfort flow through them, nonetheless. The air they breathed felt fresher and cleaner, and thoughts of the stars comforted them. Hope sprung in their hearts to ease their grief, and the people could see themselves moving on, moving past all this tragedy, yet keep the love of the ones they lost in their hearts.

As the song ended, the two Kings turned back toward the burial mounds and watched Gandalf, as he stepped ahead of them and in between the mounds of fresh dirt. Raising his staff, the Wizard struck the ground three times; each strike sent off fireworks that burst into the sky with glittering brilliance of white, silver, and dark.

They all looked up in amazement, as the sparks morphed into the shape of birds: The white were now Sea Gulls to represent the fallen of Laketown; the grey evolved into Mithren aewe, Elven-birds, to represent each of the Elves that had perished, and the dark turned into Ravens to denote each Dwarf that was no more.

The Wizard waved his hand and wielded his staff, to gather them into one large flock, flying up, up, rolling, swelling, undulating as one mass, and gaining speed. He then sent them soaring high around the entire expanse of the Field of Desolation, making its way from where they were standing, over to the hill where Dáin and his dwarven army had first appeared, off to fly in front of the Lonely Mountain, around and back again. It hovered high over the people and the Mounds for a moment or two, then spiraled down, and swooped low, flying in a low circle around both Burial Mounds three times. The Ravens, the Mithren Aewe and Seagulls soared high once more, hovering again for a moment above the mounds, in a tight formation.

Mithrandir waved his staff and spoke loud, echoing words in Quenya. He struck the ground again. The Ravens broke out of the flock and headed East, toward the Lonely Mountain, as Dwarves return to the stone from which they were made. The staff struck the ground a second time, and all the Grey Elven-birds turned to the West toward the Sea. A third time, and the Seagulls turned South, towards the Long Lake: Each bird, each soul, flying away, until they were completely out of sight; to where their final destinies awaited them.

And, with that, thus ended the Funeral of the Dead for the Desolation of Smaug, and the Battle of the Five Armies.

 **ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:**

 _O, Eru Ilúvitar!_ – Oh, Eru, God of All!

 _Bannos hîr i firn!_ – Námo, Lord of the Dead!

 _Hîr i thŷr a thûl!_ \- Lord of Eagles and Wind!

 _Tolo a dogo vín gwaith îdh vronadui_ \- Come and lead our Elves to lasting peace.

 _Govano i nothrim în ah i mellyn în mi Mannos_ \- May they join their family and friends in the afterlife."

 **Hymn to Elbereth Gilthoniel:**

Snow-white! Snow-white! O Lady clear!

O Queen beyond the Western Seas!

O Light to us that wander here

Amid the world of woven trees!

Gilthoniel! O Elbereth!

Clear are thy eyes and bright thy breath!

Snow-white! Snow-white! We sing to thee

In a far land beyond the Sea.

O stars that in the Sunless Year

With shining hand by her were sown,

In windy fields now bright and clear

We see your silver blossom blown!

O Elbereth! Gilthoniel!

We still remember, we who dwell

In this far land beneath the trees,

Thy starlight on the Western Seas.

 **NOTES:**

Please be kind if I have screwed this up. I looked at Sindarin websites and Sindarin rules of grammar till my eyes started to cross… :-P

 **CREDITS:**

Thank you to this website for help with Thranduil's blessing: /phrasebooks/sindarin/doriath/

Thank you to this page for this lovely translation of the song of Elbereth: .


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary:**

Bard and Thranduil spend some time with their own subjects, but still cross each other's paths a few times. On impulse Bard sets the Elvenking up for a bit of a surprise, but will it be good one?

As more and more of Thranduil's heart comes to life, he doesn't know how to manage it. How can he sort it all out?

 **Ruins of Dale; 29th of November, 2941 T.A.**

After the funeral, each King spent the rest of the day, as agreed, visiting the sick and wounded in the Healing Tents, then seeing the rest their people. Since the Battle, there had been little time for this, as so many things had to be arranged quickly for their comfort and safety.

With a Healer and Sigrid by his side, Bard made his way to each bed that held his folk, to sit and speak with them for a few minutes, and get apprised as to his or her condition by the Healer, and the prognosis. In three cases, the Healer was silent as to the outcome, which told the King of Dale that there would be more to add to the burial mound, and more sorrow and grief.

The Chief Healer explained how patients were not grouped according to race, as one might expect, but by the gravity of their condition. This made it simpler for the less seriously wounded to be cared for by the less experienced, under supervision. Within these groups, they were separated by sex, so as to preserve dignity and modesty, but the truly serious cases were placed next to the Healer's tables to be closely supervised, regardless of gender. All during this visit, Sigrid was paying close attention, asking questions, and telling him she was considering this as her vocation.

Those still confined, but on the mend, spent their days visiting and cheering up the other wounded, leading songs and the men telling not-so-proper pub tales, which greatly fascinated their Elven counterparts. When Bard heard this latter news, he pretended to be shocked, sent Sigrid on a quick errand, then proceeded to tell an especially lewd one of his own, which sent them all into guffaws of laughter. While he was holding his stomach, laughing, he happened to look up again, to see Thranduil eyeing him from across the area with his eyebrows raised. Ah. Elven hearing. Well, perhaps his Elven Army would learn a thing or two once his men returned to them, wouldn't they?

As Bard and Sigrid continued to make their way around the cots, Bard could see Thranduil and Feren, accompanied by another Elven Healer visiting their injured. While not overly demonstrative, he could see Thranduil's concern in his eyes, and the sorrow behind them. It was plain that he cared about the members of his Army, and he could see that each was devoted to their King.

When they met in the main walkway between the rows of patients, Bard greeted him, and formally introduced his eldest daughter, who curtsied beautifully. The Elvenking nodded his head to her respectfully, kissed her hand, called her Lady Sigrid, and complimented Bard on such a beautiful daughter, which made her blush, and Bard smile with pride at his lovely girl.

Then, he felt Sigrid give him a quick elbow in the ribs and she whispered, "Ask him, Da!"

"Oh, yes, sorry, Darling," Bard then cleared his throat, and gave a formal nod to the Elvenking.

"My Lord Thranduil, I have been officially sanctioned to invite you to dine with my children at our tent, at your convenience."

"Oh? 'Sanctioned?'" The Elvenking raised his brows. "To whom do I owe this great honor, if the notion did not originate with you?"

"My children, of course. Actually, it was Sigrid, here, but the younger ones agreed. Therefore, I'm authorized to extend the invitation."

"I am most honored. And by extending this invitation, do you approve, or are you simply relaying a message?" He inquired of the Bowman, and Bard could see Sigrid's bemused face, in his peripheral vision. If she was not at all used to her father being so formal, she was downright confused about this banter between her Da and the tall, blond Elf King.

"I find that I approve." Bard was trying his best to keep a solemn look in his face.

"Again, I am most honored. And where will you be, My Lord Bard, while I am dining with your children, may I ask?"

"Ah, well, if you can tolerate my presence at this esteemed event, then I should like to join you, if I may be so bold."

Thranduil address Sigrid, "Would your father's attendance be agreeable to you, My Lady?"

She nodded, speechless.

"I accept your gracious invitation, Lady Sigrid, and am most honored. In fact, you and your family might enjoy dining in my tent, if you would be so kind. I have heard your brother, Prince Bain has expressed an interest in my armor and weaponry." He gave Sigrid a regal smile. "If you children are anything like my son was when he was young, you must be curious, as to what an Elvenking's tent might be like, are you not?"

That's right…where was Legolas? Bard hasn't seen him, and he'd been too busy to ask...

"I would be delighted to host you for a meal. You may even bring your father," Thranduil said, to Sigrid's smiling face. "Perhaps four days hence?" He took her hand and kissed it, and she blushed and curtsied again.

"Very well, it is settled, and I shall look forward to it. Now, we must be getting back to our duties, should we not?"

As previously agreed, King Thranduil stood next to Bard before the patients, while he thanked them for their bravery in the Battle, and Thranduil interpreted for him in Sindarin. After this, the King of the Woodland Realm gave a short speech in Sindarin and in Westron rendering his own appreciation.

Then Bard formally announced his heritage, and that he was to be crowned King of Dale, as soon as the city was ready. He vowed to do his best to be a good leader and King, and expressed confidence in the strength of his people. His second announcement was, after today, the people of Laketown will be formally known as citizens of Dale. This was met with cheers all around, which boosted his confidence a bit. No matter matter what he had heard, he hadn't been completely sure if this is what his people truly wanted. He wanted the sick and the injured to be told first, as many were still suffering from the task of keeping their people free. They deserved to be the first to know. Tonight, at suppertime, he will see the rest of them, while dining in the main Food Tent. Gandalf had offered fireworks, to celebrate.

When he and Thranduil had discussed this before, he offered the Elvenking the opportunity to say a few words at Bard's announcement about Dale, but was refused.

"I thank you, but your people will only care about you. You must come from a position of strength, and that should not involve me. This is one of the things that you must always do, Bard. Present a strong, confident image to them, no matter what you are thinking or feeling. It is not lying," Thranduil had said, when Bard didn't completely agree. "Besides a ruler, you are a symbol. If there are men in your kingdom who lack confidence and hope, they will always look to you to assure them. Always. You are their strength and example. You must show them how to give their best. This helps them, Bard. Showing empathy and compassion is one thing, but giving even a hint that you are unsure and afraid, will only undermine their confidence, and make them feel unsafe."

As always, Thranduil was right, and as always, Bard was grateful.

When they were ready to leave the Healing Tents, Sigrid asked permission to stay behind and help the healer's aides, and to ask some more questions. Bard and Percy took a tour through his Camp, marveling at the cleverness of its design. Each small tent group circled a fire pit with logs for sitting, creating little neighborhoods, discouraging isolation. They sat on a log at each one, asking and answering questions, wanting to know concerns or problems they could help with. For the most part they were relatively satisfied; the Elves are working to see that they had enough food, the privies had all been dug and were adequate to meet their necessary needs, and Bathing Tents had been set up for them, along with wash lines. Only a few were really unhappy, but these were people who were always negative, and liked to gripe. He did his best with them, and once he realized there was no pleasing them, moved on.

Both Men and Elves worked to make sure there was wood for the fires, taking the carts out in the mornings, and filling the wagons with wood. Some Elves served as guards, and others pointed out which trees were ready to be chopped down, as they were already dying, and helped the men in their work. Bard also was told that more wagons of firewood were being harvested in Thranduil's realm and will be brought to store for winter months.

Under Hilda's supervision, the women were working hard to see to everyone's comforts as well, making use of the clothing the Elves had sent. Needles, thread, and scissors had been provided, so they cut off the garments at the bottom, and use that fabric to make gussets along the sides and arms. Extra heavy wool fabric and furs given to them were fashioned in to warm coats. The Elves had even provided wool, so many of the women were busy making mittens, hats, scarves, and such, with the knitting needles that came. This needlework had a serendipitous benefit: a way to ease them from their despair.

They would gather during the day around one or two of the fires, or, on an inclement day, gather in the Food Tent, to work on their different projects. The women developed a camaraderie, chatting and singing while their hands were working away, cheering each other and supporting each other during this difficult time. Several men unable to do heavy work, but still needing company, gathered during the day in the Food Tent to help serve and clean up, helped with he children, or sat with the sick. They all did their best to keep busy - it was the Laketown way.

Working together was good for the residents of Dale. Percy and Hilda were adamant that everyone be given a job to do, according to their abilities and talents, so each felt like they were contributing toward their own future. Bard was glad to hear of few conflicts and personality clashes.

The best part of the afternoon was when Bard, Percy and Hilda visited the Children's Tent and their playing area. It was set in an area of the city that had been cleared of all evidence of violence, as much as possible. They were within the walls of the city, so they were relatively safe, but several Elven guards were posted around them to make sure. Tauriel was with Bain and Tilda, who came up to meet him, hugging him around his waist. Tilda was smiling, still quiet, but he could see, especially amongst the happier atmosphere of little voices and giggles, that it did her world of good. It did all the children good. There were several of the elderly folk there, whose arthritic hands may have prevented them from other work, but that didn't stop them from giving hugs, singing songs and telling stories.

He was pleasantly surprised to see several Elves amongst the little ones as well. He saw some, whose faces he recognized from the Elven Army, in tunics and leggings, laughing and playing with them. When he commented to Tauriel about their visitors, she smiled and confided that many of them came here while off-duty. Even Feren, the King's Commander, was seen, letting some little girls play with his hair.

Bard wanted to talk to Bronwyn, who was put in charge of the children, about the orphans. This was a dilemma, and a heartbreaking one. There were just so many. He'd asked Hilda where they went at night, she assured them that they were all safe and warm. She, Bronwyn, and the Galion had set up a large tent in this same area for them, and several volunteers stayed with them. There had been offers in the camp to house some of them, but Hilda would only allow this if the family were planned to adopt them.

"It's cruel to let these dearies get attached, only to be separated once these folks get a new home. I won't do it." Thankfully, there had been families who took some, but it was not nearly enough. Bronwyn said when the off-duty Elves came to visit, she steered in the direction of an orphan, to administer what the best medicine could not provide them.

"Seems to me, Bard, these children do as much for the Elves, as they do for wee ones. I never thought I'd see the day, but 'tis a grand thing."

Suddenly, up stepped a surprise visitor to the Children's Tent. Bard saw movement from the corner of his eye, turned and was shocked to see Thranduil, King of the Woodland Realm approaching. He was even out of his miles of formal robes, merely wearing a tunic - a fancy blue one with silver embroidery, and soft black leather leggings. The guards, as one, turned toward him and saluted him, while the Elves within the tent quickly stood in deference to their King. The noise and action of the guards caused the children to stop what they were doing and regard the Elvenking, their eyes widening at the sight of the tall, blond Elf with the pretty, shiny thing on his head. The Elvenking responded to all this with a formal nod to his people, and a small smile to the children.

It was time for him to make formal introductions, and for Bard to have some fun…

"King Thranduil, we are honored to have you join us." Bard gave a nod. "I'd like to present to you Percy, my Second in Command, and Hilda, who is the main reason our camp is running smoothly. Hilda, Percy, please allow me to introduce King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm."

Hilda and Percy, eyes wide and speechless, bowed and curtsied as low as they could go and Hilda had to grab her husband's arm to help her up again. Not surprisingly, Hilda found her tongue first. "We're pleased to meet you, My Lord. We didn't expect you to be gracing us with your presence - Erm... I mean to say, we didn't, but we're glad you did." Hilda was actually babbling. Bard was chewing the inside of his cheek into bits trying to keep a straight face.

Thranduil, of course played this to the hilt. He nodded his head to them, saying, "I thank you Lord Percy and Lady Hilda; I am honored to meet such good friends of Bard, King of Dale. He has told me much about your efforts to serve your people and my own people have much praise for your work."

When the Elvenking took Hilda's hand, bowed low and kissed her knuckles, Bard thought she might faint. In all of the years he had known her, he had never seen her flummoxed!

The Elvenking added, "I am told that you will be accompanying your Lord and King to the services tomorrow, honoring the late King Under the Mountain and his nephews. I am also told few outside their world have seen a Dwarven funeral; it will be an honor to be counted amongst them, do you not think? Now, Lady Hilda, would be so kind as to introduce me to the caretakers of these children?" He took her hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm, and they were off to meet Bronwyn and the other ladies, with Hilda staring up at him, dazed and speechless.

Percy jabbed Bard with his elbow, "I've never seen anyone get the best of my wife like that! Look at him! He's charmin' the britches off her, and she's putty in his hands! Ulmo's balls, Bard; If he told her to jump off a cliff right now, she'd do it!" He howled, and Bard joined him. "I'm never gonna to let her live this down!"

They watched with interest, as Thranduil met each of the other women in charge, kissing their hand, and asking questions about their duties with the children. Bronwyn, after gathering her wits, asked the children if they would like to sing a song for the King of the Elves. They did, so they were assembled, and sang a simple Laketown song about catching fish in the sea and seeing birds in the sky. Bard's children were singing along, happily. After they finished, Thranduil nodded his head regally and thanked them, while Bard and all the others applauded.

When he and Hilda returned to Bard and Percy, Bard decided to have some more fun. He whispered something quick to Percy, then stepped forward, and said: "Children, did you know

King Thranduil was the one who set all this up for you?" The children shook their heads, and said no. "Well, he was! And he wants these nice workers and his nice soldiers to do make sure you're safe, and have lots of fun! What do you think of that?" At this, the children cheered lustily and clapped. The Elvenking smiled and nodded, but gave him a slightly bemused look.

Bard wasn't through just yet. Giving Thranduil a quick wink, he turned back to the children again and said, "Well now children, if the King of the Elves here did something SO nice for you, don't you think you should thank him?" A chorus of Ayes. "I think so, too!" On Bard's signal, Percy reached for Hilda and they all stepped back, leaving the Elf standing by himself, and looking a bit alarmed.

Then Bard cried, "So how about you all come here and giving him a HUG! Hurry! Come on, all of you! Give him BIG HUGS!"

Instantly, a loud chorus of little voices rang out, and they rushed at the poor, unsuspecting Elf. Within seconds, Thranduil Oropherion, King of the Woodland Realm, was festooned upon by a large crowd of smiling, laughing, children, all doing their best to get their little arms around him. Thranduil stood, arms up, eyes wide, and completely stunned. He looked extremely uncomfortable, and for a moment or two, Bard regretted his joke; perhaps it was a bit too much. Clearly the Elvenking was caught off guard, probably one of the few times in his life this had happened, he mused. Maybe this was a breach of etiquette…

But the magic and wonder of children could overcome many things. This was proven to be so, as Bard looked on with delight. Thranduil gradually relaxed his stiffened posture, slowly he lowered his arms to lay hands on the children's heads, and his expression began to change. What was, only moments before, a mask of a smile for the little ones, became genuine, and it reached every bit of his face. Soon, he was giving the little ones what Bard had only seen once before, but hoped to see again and again and again.

Thranduil was actually laughing and smiling, showing his perfect, beautiful teeth. Bronwyn and the ladies were smiling, their hands to their cheeks, and the Elves looked happy, too.

Bard didn't try to hide his amusement, laughing heartily. Even Percy and Hilda, no longer bewildered, were laughing.

What had started as a small prank on his Elven friend, turned out to be genuine gift, and Bard was glad he'd done it.

The evidence was there, and Bard was deeply moved to see it.

Thranduil's eyes didn't look so lonely anymore.

The Elvenking thanked all the children for their enthusiastic welcome, and now they were being collected by the families, or taken to the Orphan's tent to get ready getting ready for their dinner. The adults were also leaving for the day, Bard had asked Tauriel to take Bain and Tilda to his tent and help them wash for their supper. They planned to eat with all the people in the Food Tent this evening, to finish out the day, while Thranduil had arranged to dine with his Army.

"Lord Bard, might I see you for a moment in my tent, before your dinner? A matter of some importance that has arisen. I promise to be brief; I do not wish to take you from your children."

"Of course, Lord Thranduil." Bard turned to his friends and asked them to pick up his children when they were done washing and meet them at the Food Tent, so, after bows and curtsies, they left.

Making their way back through the city to the Elven Camp, Thranduil couldn't stop thinking of the phenomenon inside him. He felt better, after the sadness of the services this morning, and seeing all his injured Elves in various states of healing. It seemed fitting, after saying final farewells to his people, and so many more injured, to be reminded that life can go on. When he looked down at all those young faces, he saw hope for the future.

It was more than that, truth be told. He was feeling like shards of protective ice were melting around his heart, and it was becoming free again. The first cracks in that thick, icy shell appeared after his encounters with his son and Mithrandir. It began to melt with his tearful release alone on Ravenhill. And much of it had to do with Bard, the new King of Dale.

When he and Bard reached his tent, he said a quick word to his guard, in Sindarin, that they were not to be disturbed, and they went in, Bard following him.

"I hope you aren't cross with me for pulling that little prank on you Thranduil," Bard was saying behind him. "I just thought- _MMMRPH!"_

Bard couldn't say another word, after Thranduil whipped around suddenly and kissed him fiercely, holding his face to make sure that he couldn't get away. After his initial surprise, he could feel Bard relax and lean into the kiss as it got more demanding, his hands were on Thranduil's waist, then around him; holding him close, then leaning into him, as they now moved down and to Thranduil's hips and pulled him closer. They both moaned, as their kiss became predatory. After a minute or two, Thranduil pulled back, and looked intensely into Bard's forest-green eyes, as they both breathed heavily.

"Well, I see you liked it, after all." Bard was smiling at him.

Thranduil's response was to gather him in to his arms and hold him, burying his face in the space between Bard's neck and shoulder. He breathed the man in deeply. Bard held on to him just as tightly, kissing his hair, and stroking his back.

"Thank you," he whispered to Bard. "I cannot tell you…" He breathed, and tried again. "I have not had…" Thranduil's eyes stung and his throat sized up. He swallowed hard, unable to speak. How could he begin to tell Bard how much this meant to him?

"Shh, easy now, it's all right. Shh..." At Bard's words, Thranduil just held him tighter, and, beyond speech, swallowed several times, eyes closed tight, his breath shaky. He felt Bard's hands move up and down his back in soothing motions. He was lost in warmth of Bard, the feel of him, the touch of him, and he couldn't stop wanting more.

This man seemed to be the salve to soothe the newly-exposed wounds uncovered in him. Thranduil was afraid of the idea of needing Bard for that, but right in this moment, it felt like he was the best and only way to find solace in all this raw emotion unleashed in him. When he wasn't with him, his insides felt like a whirlpool, swirling and confusing. But Bard had a way of calming these waters; of soothing him, without even knowing he was doing it.

Thranduil's hand stroked Bard's head, fingering his black, thick curls, desperately wishing for the impossible...

After feeling a warm kiss to his temple, he felt Bard pull back a little, and they looked into each other's eyes.

"What prompted you to gather the children around me that way?" Thranduil asked him. He looked at the other man's face, at the laugh lines, at how one side of his mouth lifted up in that crooked smile of his; he liked it. It made him look slightly wicked.

"I decided I like your smile." Bard told him, " Not those phony, diplomatic ones, but a real, honest smile, and I wanted to see another one. It was selfish, really." Bard touched his face, his lips. "You're so beautiful, Thranduil, and you're even more beautiful, when you have a bit of joy and laughter about you. You're always nice to look at, and I know you know it." The Elf raised a brow at this, before Bard's face turned serious. "Thranduil, when I saw you with those children, when I saw the loneliness leave you, it took my breath away."

Another chunk of ice fell. Oh, this Man before him; what was to be done? How could he stop wanting what can never be?

Bard was removing the Elvenking's silver crown, setting it on the table. Then he was gently using his hands to brush his icy blonde hair away from his face, running it through his fingers. Thranduil was watching him, following Bard's eyes as he took in the features of his face, as he oh, so lightly traced his finger over his cheeks, his brows, his forehead, and his lips. Then, Bard came closer, their lips almost touching, and he whispered, "Even if you weren't an Elvenking; even if you weren't powerful, even if you weren't helping me learn how to run my kingdom, even if you had not helped my people, you would still be the most beautiful thing I've ever known."

A slow tear made its way down Thranduil's cheek as he fell into the deep, hazel pools of Bard's eyes, his breath catching. His own hands moved up, resting on Bard's wrists. So much inside of him was changing. It was astonishing, and frightening, and wonderful and joyous and terrible all at the same time.

"There's so much inside of you, so much strength, but also, kindness," Bard whispered. "To others, you might seem cold, unfeeling and uncaring, but I don't see it. Maybe you've been that to others. Maybe you thought that's what you needed to do, so you could be this mighty Warrior-King, but I see so much more. And that, Thranduil, is what makes you beautiful to me."

"Bard…" he sobbed, as another tear fell. Speech failed him entirely, after that.

Thranduil was expecting Bard to kiss him on his mouth, but instead, he gently pulled Thranduil's face down, and placed a kiss on his forehead. Somehow, this was so much more intimate. It helped Thranduil know the Bowman meant his words, and it pierced his heart.

And oh, did it hurt.

It hurt that he enjoyed the affection of all those children, when he could not from his own son. And now the son didn't want to be with him anymore.

What Bard believed about him was a lie.

What would happen when Bard knew how he'd been towards Legoas? How he had left, because he despised him for not being a true father to him? How distant a cruel he'd been to Tauriel?

Bard, no stranger to heartache and loss, was so easy with his children. He showered them with love and affection. He, too, had lost his wife, but didn't let that be an excuse to turn his back on them. It's one thing to be distant when dealing with his people. Bard could see through that. But Bard was a family man, and he'd never respect someone who made his own children feel unloved and unwanted.

What if Bard found out, and no longer saw him the same way?

What frightened Thranduil most of all, since the slow thawing of his heart was, how much he was beginning to need Bard's acceptance and esteem. He wasn't sure if he could lose that, too. If Bard turned from him, he would be completely alone again. Was it worth the risk?

 _O Valar…_

Bard saw his stricken face, placing hands upon his shoulders. "What's the matter? What's wrong?"

Thranduil couldn't meet his eyes, but he marshaled his resolve, squared his shoulders. "Nothing. It's nothing. Please do not worry." He withdrew from Bard, gently lowering their hands, giving Bard's a squeeze.

"Whatever it is, you can tell me." Bard was searching his eyes, trying to find what they just lost. Thranduil could give him no answers, but he remembered what he was keeping Bard from.

"We cannot linger, Bard. You must to be on your way to meet your people." He did his best to give Bard a confident smile. "In fact, you are late, are you not?"

" _Shit!_ You're right; I've got to get going."

"You had best hurry. Your people have waited long enough to have their King, do you not agree? Mithrandir tells me he has planned some fireworks to celebrate your announcement. Your children will certainly enjoy that."

Bard gave him a grin. "How do I look; am I dirty anywhere? Can I borrow your washbasin to clean my face and hands at least?"

"Of course, you may. Let me get you a cloth. Your hands need washed, but otherwise, you look satisfactory. Here you are." Thranduil handed him a small linen towel.

When Bard was finished, Thranduil inspected the King of Dale, brushing off his shoulders, and some bits of grass that was stuck to his leg. "I think you are presentable, My King," Thranduil told him with a nod, and, with a small shove out of the tent, he sent Bard on his way.

Thranduil stood in silence. There was a genuine void left by Bard's presence, and it felt heavy. He sighed. He truly did not know what to do, at this point. He was growing so attached to this King of Men. Too attached, and that was dangerous, but he could do little about it.

Thranduil left a few minutes after Bard, and dined in with his Elven Army. He was glad to spend time with Feren and the troops, and it was good for them to keep connected with their King. They were excellent, fiercely loyal individuals and performed admirably during the Battle of the Five Armies. They operated as a finely-tuned unit, to maximum effectiveness and strength. There was no better Elven Army on Middle Earth, and he told them all so, in his speech, and acknowledged and praised his Commander Feren, and all the officers. He spent a great deal of time, moving from table to table, speaking to the individual Elves, and personally congratulating them for a job well done.

It was late by the time he made his way back to his quarters, but he had much on his mind.

He couldn't help but be pleased at the way his had army followed orders. None question his retreat, neither did they hesitate to re-engage, when the order came. Feren and his unit had protected him then; ready to defend him, when Tauriel confronted him with her bow. When Legolas stepped forward to defy him, the soldiers were just as ready to end his son's life, should they see a clear danger. Their first duty was to the King, always. He expected nothing less, no matter what the circumstances. They knew nothing of the circumstances, and naturally were confused by what had occurred. Yet they did their duty. Thranduil felt a surge of pride at this, along with his deep regret.

Thranduil was disappointed with himself. If he had behaved differently long before, no one would have been put in that position in the first place. How could he not think it was his fault? Mistakes needed to be examined, things needed to be learned, so they cannot be repeated. He had always done so militarily, but he should have been doing this personally, as well. Of course he hadn't been doing that. How can one really look at something clearly, while running away from it? What was he going to do about this terrible mess he made?

He knew as King, he had no choice but remove Tauriel from her position as Captain of the Guard. Any notions of rescinding her banishment from the Woodland Realm, became impossible after she lifted her weapon to him. He was the King; he was the law, and he had to observe it. For most of her life, Thranduil had seen Tauriel as a soldier; a Captain of his Guardians, an elite military unit within his Army. It was a rank she earned, through hard work, and dedication and practice, for Commander Feren did not advance anyone in rank unless they earned it on their own merits. She had brilliantly carried out her duties for many years.

It hurt him to think that somewhere along the line, he had stopped thinking of her as his ward, as his foster-daughter. He had robbed Tauriel just as much as he had Legolas.

When Thranduil started to sense his son's affections for her, and was concerned, for he knew she did not return them. Legolas setting himself up for heartache, and his instinct was to protect him from it, at all costs. An Elf only fell in love once in his life and his son was a Prince of the Realm, and he could not allow his heart to be wasted on something that could never be!

His intention might have been admirable, but the way he carried it out was despicable. When he brought up the situation with Tauriel, she had the impression he would not allow it, because she wasn't good enough for his son, and he knowingly allowed her to believe it. He was cruel to her, and she didn't deserve that. It was no wonder, when the Dwarves came, and he tried to avoid the danger, she ran off and pursued it with all the boundless, curious, energy she had always possessed.

No matter what the state of his mind, or his situation, or his heart (especially when he didn't feel like he had one), he never thought of the Silvan Elves as lowly. Ever. And yet, that didn't stop him from allowing this young Elf from thinking that she was unworthy. He lowered his head, and rubbed his eyes, as they began to sting with self-contempt. He was chagrined at his words to Tauriel about the mortality of her Dwarf, or of any being that was doomed to die. He hadn't always thought that way.

When Erebor and Dale were destroyed, he isolated his people. There was a Dragon sleeping in Erebor now, and he wouldn't take risks. Just the thought of one of those creatures caused him nights of terror-filled dreams. He withdrew his people further into themselves, and into himself even more, if it were possible. His fear made him angry. His anger spoke to his fear. It was a vicious cycle, and it had only grown worse with time.

He used to have a cordial, respectful, relationship with Mortals. He'd forgotten what he liked and admired about the Men he knew in Dale. Bard embodied the best in all of them, and he will be a great leader. But he was more than that. Without effort, Bard was courageous in ways Thranduil had never been, with his heart, and his spirit. He faced things that Thranduil ran from. He didn't turn away from what could help him, even if it meant risking vulnerability. In less than a few weeks, Thranduil saw more strength in Bard as a person than he had ever seen in himself.

With all that Bard was awakening in him, with each layer that was removed, the ache from wounds, long dormant, were being felt again. He didn't expect this would be so painful. It was a whirlwind sometimes, overwhelming at other times. He simply wasn't used to this. He wasn't used to feeling anything, and he couldn't to sort it out, except to know that, when he was with Bard, he felt better. H didn't know what to do, and he felt overwhelmed.

After some contemplation, he went to his guard at the entrance of his tent, and sent for Galion. He needed to talk to the one who had seen him through just about everything, and help him sort all this out. Thranduil didn't have to worry about privacy. As was usual with the King's quarters during wartime, his tent had been protected by a silencing spell in Quenya, to prevent outsiders from hearing intelligence or battle plans.

"You wish to see me, My Lord?"

"Yes, Galion. Please pour yourself a drink and sit down. I hope you have no pressing duties at this time?"

"I do not. What do you need, Sire?" Galion winced, remembering Thranduil's edict. "My apologies."

"It is quite all right. I need to speak with you; not as a King, but as a friend. There have been many things weighing on my mind of late, and it is..." he swallowed, "overwhelming."

"I see." Galion nodded. "Can I be of help?"

"I do not know. All I know is…I had been so…closed." Unconsciously he rubbed his chest. "Many things have changed since we came to Dale, and I…" Thranduil hesitated, taking a huge breath. "I do not know what to do…" He blew the air out of his mouth, slowly, and looked down.

Galion gave him a penetrating look. "Can you tell me what is bringing all of this about?"

"I am not sure. It may not be simply one reason," he shrugged. "Or maybe it is. I feel…confused. It is a jumble in me, and it…" Oh, this was hard... "It is frightening."

"Does this have to do with King Bard?"

At this, Thranduil's eyes shot up defensively. He tended to forget just how aware Galion was of the details of his life, and he felt vulnerable. What he found in Galion's face was calmness and concern. Thranduil relaxed, and tried to come up with an answer for him.

"It might, but I do not know if Bard is the cause. It could be many things, in truth. Recent events have made me see much in a different light…"

"Can you tell me about them?"

"I do not know where to start. I was hoping you might help me make sense of all it. It is difficult to see clearly, and…" He fell silent for a moment. "You have known me all my life, Galion, and I do not know where else to turn. All these thoughts and feelings..."

"I understand your dilemma, Thranduil, and I will do what I can. Let us do this: rather than consider everything at once, can we speak of one problem at a time?"

"We could do that."

"Can you tell me about the day of the Battle? Some things occurred that might have a great deal to do with why you are feeling this way, do you not think?"

"But, you know what happened, that day."

"I do," Galion insisted, asking, "However, it might be helpful if you speak of it from your own point of view. I know it will be difficult, but it could start to unravel this for you." Galion poured another glass of wine for him, and sat back, expectantly.

And so, Thranduil began to tell him the same things he had told Bard: his visions of the prior War, seeing his father's face among the bodies, the terrible things he said to Tauriel, of Legolas's contempt, of Mithrandir's words about his wife. He told him about Ravenhill, when Legolas left, and what he observed with Tauriel, before the Dwarf Prince had been taken away. He even told him about how he wept bitterly, sitting against the rocks for such a long time.

Galion listened carefully throughout, asking him what was running through his mind, and how it felt. It took enormous effort for him to talk about his thoughts and feelings, but when he did, it began to untangle the terrible knot inside. After what seemed like hours, Thranduil was exhausted and limp. He sat back in his chair, with his eyes closed, out of energy.

"Thranduil, you have had a difficult time, and you need to sleep now. You might not understand it, but you have done well, and I am proud of you."

"Do you have any answers or gems of wisdom as to what I should do?" Thranduil asked his friend, wryly.

"I am sorry, _Mellon_ _nîn_ , I do not. You, yourself hold the answers you seek, but I promise I will help you find them. I would ask that we talk again; if you truly want to be free of the chains that bind you, I think we must, for as long as it takes. But I leave that for you to decide. I cannot force you, and even if I could, I will not. Yes, there are things that have beleaguered you, but unless you are willing to seek those things out and face them for yourself, and for yourself alone, I fear no one can help you."

Thranduil contemplated his words, then whispered. "I have to, Galion. I cannot be this way anymore. I was this cold, unfeeling monster, and I can't -"

Galion put his hand on the Elvenking's shoulder. "Mellon nîn, you were never a monster. I have known you since the day you were born, and have loved you like a son. I always will, Thranduil."

A tear moved down Thranduil's cheek, and dripped off his chin. "I'm frightened of what I might see if I look too closely," he whispered.

"I understand, but you are not alone, Thranduil. I will not desert you in this, no matter what happens. I hope that helps you."

It did.

 **ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:**

 _Mellon_ _nîn –_ My friend


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary:**

Bard has the honor of attending the funeral for the late King Under the Mountain and his nephews.

After putting it off as long as he could, Thranduil and Tauriel finally meet in his tent to discuss her actions during the Battle and learn her fate. Thranduil and Bard begin to reflect upon the Elf's family, and what could have been.

 **Chapter Ten**

 **Erebor; 30th of November, 2941 T.A.**

Erebor, even in its current state, with Smaug's claw marks and so many broken walls and pillars, was astounding. Bard could see much had been done to clear debris and bring as much order as possible here. He beheld the green marble walls, the high carved ceilings, the grand pillars, the bridges, the majestic statues, the tapestries, and best of all, the golden floor of the Hall of Kings.

Before this, Bard had never been anywhere but Laketown and the river in Mirkwood. He'd seen this mountain in the distance his entire life, but never imagined it had held such wonder. His first glimpse of the carvings of the entrance to Erebor, were only peripheral; he was too preoccupied trying to keep his people alive. When he rode up to the Grand Entrance to confront Thorin, it was only hastily-placed ramparts he saw. But now that was over, and he could truly marvel at the craftsmanship of the Dwarven race, it took his breath away.

"It's marvelous, isn't it?" A voice to his left, said.

Bard looked down at Bilbo and smiled. "I've never seen anything like it. I feel like I've left Arda and am walking in another world."

"That's how I felt, when I left the Shire. It's one thing to contemplate this wide world from my armchair and a map, but it's another thing it see it, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is, Master Baggins."

"Please, call me Bilbo."

"Of course, Bilbo. And I insist you call me Bard. No formal titles between us, yeah? Not for someone who tried so hard to prevent war."

"I thank you. And this is…?"

"Oh, please excuse my manners. This is Lord Percy, my Chief Aide and Steward, and his wife Lady Hilda, my Seneschal. Percy, Hilda, may I present Master Bilbo Baggins of the Shire."

Bilbo exchanged friendly greetings with the older couple, who also requested informality.

There were all seated at the head table at the feast given after the funeral for King Thorin, Prince Fili, and Prince Kili.

~o0o~

It had been an extraordinary service, in the tombs of the Lonely Mountain. Bard stood with the other guests by the stone platform, cradled between the arms of two enormous statues, with three plinths supporting the bodies of the fallen above a huge, echoing bottomless pit. The hymn was sung by the Dwarves vibrated throughout the enormous tomb, and down into the unknown, reverberating to form a distinct, unforgettable sound. There were Dwarves on the staircases, and each level of the cavern, holding lamps and candles. The platform, was surrounded by candlelight, as was each of the bodies.

Bilbo and the rest of the company were making their way slowly around and in between the plinths, weeping openly over their fallen comrades; even Dwalin was heartbroken. Balin told him how his younger brother sliced down Orc after Orc like blades of grass, desperate to save Thorin, but he simply couldn't reach him in time, was forced to watch as Thorin, with no other choice but to sacrifice himself, moved Orcrist the Goblin Cleaver out of the way, allowing the Azog's blade to pierce his body, so he could thrust his own into White Orc's heart. Dwalin felt responsible for Thorin's death and Bard had compassion for him. The Dwarf could be aggressive and frightening, but his actions showed a devoted, loyal and commendable heart.

Bilbo lingered at Thorin's side, sobbing until Ori and Dori gently led him away. He had loved the King, so Bard was told, and, despite the Gold Sickness, Thorin cared for him, as well. If things had been different, Bilbo might have been a neighbor of sorts, as the King Under the Mountain's consort. Like Tauriel and her lost Dwarven Prince, there'd be no chance to see where love could take them. An untimely death doesn't just rob one life, it's the death of a future involving many, and all the joys, trials and triumphs that would never come to pass. It was a death of possibilities.

When the hymns were finished, the Dwarves began a deep, reverent humming, while the original members of the Company gathered on either side of the marbled plinths. Bofur and Nori went to Prince Kili, taking the cloth he was laying on, and lovingly wrapped him in it. They lifted him and took him to the edge of the platform. All present bowed low with respect, and Bofur and Nori gave the Kili to the Lonely Mountain.

Bard heard a sob to his left, and glanced over to see Tauriel. Her face was full of anguish, and tears ran down her face and off her chin, unchecked. She had also been invited as an honored guest, and for her valiant efforts to save Kili's life, was named a friend to the Dwarves. Once Kili was given into the mountain's care, Tauriel slowly stepped forward, bowed and gave an Elven salute to him, and dropped a small, smooth stone down into the depths. Then she turned paced back to take her place beside Thranduil, looking stricken and pale. Thranduil looked down at her, concerned, placed his hand on her shoulder, helping to steady her.

Ori told Bard what happened to them on Ravenhill; how she had gone up to where he and Bolg had been fighting. She and Kili did their best, working together to kill him, to no avail. Kili had been stabbed through the heart, right in front of her. In the end, Legolas killed that evil creature, plunging a knife right into his brain, twisting it, with satisfaction that this monster was dead. After such an ordeal, Bard could understand why Thranduil wanted her to oversee his children, a cheerful occupation to soothe her broken heart.

Oin and Gloin now went to Prince Fili, Heir of Thorin. They, too, took their Prince's body carefully and entrusted it to the mountain in the respectful way, while the Dwarves hummed their lamentations.

It was the time for Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thrór, King Under the Mountain's interment. Gandalf stepped onto the center of the platform, facing the Free Peoples there, and gave his eulogy, his voice rumbling and echoing in the cavern:

The King has come unto his own

Under mountain, under stone

Send him now unto the deep

Unto earth, eternal sleep

Under mountain, under stone

Through all the lands, let it be known

The King is dead!

Long Live the King!

From somewhere, deep horns blew, and the Dwarves' tune slowed in reverence, for their dead liege-lord. Thranduil gave Tauriel's shoulder another squeeze, and walked to the platform, placed the ancient Elven blade, Orcrist, the Goblin Cleaver, under Thorin's hands. He saluted Thorin, and bowed low offering a brief blessing in Sindarin, before pacing back to his place. It was now Bard's turn to walk to the platform and, and bowing before Bilbo, who placed the Heart of the Mountain in his hands, wrapped in cloth. Bard went to Thorin, unwrapped the King's Jewel, and placed in Thorin's hands. He stepped back, bowed low, and said, "May your journey the Halls of your Father's be swift and joyous, My King," and returned to his place beside Percy and Hilda.

Then Balin and Dwalin, with many tears served their King for the final time. They neatly wrapped Thorin in his gold and purple cloth, and lifted him. Slowly, they brought him to the edge, then the Lonely Mountain embraced the him in the bottomless depths. The King of the Mountain was returned to it and to the stone from which his people were made. Bilbo was completely overcome, leaned into Gandalf and sobbed bitterly, and as Thorin fell, while the Wizard did his best to comfort him.

The horns and the humming stopped, and cavern was complete silence and stillness for long moments. Then Dain, went over to the walkway, on to the platform, and stood regally between Balin and Dwalin at the center, wearing the crown of Durin. Balin raised his sword and cried in a strong voice:

 _Long Live the King!_

Dain, the King under the Mountain, bowed low to his new subjects, as the cries of, "Long Live the King!" were repeated three times, its echo bouncing off of the walls, and echoing down into the pit, over and over and over. Dain straightened and faced his people, as their new ruler. Another Dwarven hymn was sung, as the King made his way to the steps of the cavern and up the stairs, followed by the Royal Guests, and the rest of the Dwarven people.

Bard, Fisherman, Bargeman, now Dragonslayer and King of Dale, was moved to tears at all he had witnessed. Never again, during his life on Arda, nor even beyond that, would he see or hear anything like it.

~o0o~

As Bilbo and Hilda chatted during the feast, Bard turned, looking for Thranduil. He was sitting next to Gandalf, with Tauriel, Galion and Feren. Tauriel seemed a little recovered after the ceremony, but she was still pale. Gandalf was speaking with her, and from what he could see, he was trying to offer her words of comfort. Thranduil turned his head a little, and met Bard's eyes, giving him a smile and an encouraging nod. The Elvenking met with Bard, Hilda, and Percy before the trip to the Lonely Mountain today, telling them all he learned about the proceedings, and what would be expected. This was a huge help, as they no experience in such matters, yet wanted to represent their new country well. At first, they felt embarrassed at their ignorance, but Thranduil assured them that they need not be. Dwarven funerals, especially a Royal one, are hardly ever witnessed by outsiders. The Elvenking only knew what to expect because he sought the Wizard out and asked him, and offered to give Thorin the Elven sword Orcrist, as a gesture of goodwill. Balin took Bard aside as soon as he arrived, and asking the King of Dale to place the Heart of the Mountain in Thorin's hand before he was buried.

Bard refused to show up refugee rags for this, so Thranduil arranged for formal clothing to be made for them. It was one thing at the service for his people, where dressing as one of them served as a sign of unity. Bard was dressed in black soft leather leggings, a cream-colored tunic with gold embroidery at the collar and around the lacings, topped by a dark blue cloak, lined with crimson, also trimmed in gold, as befitting his station.

He didn't have a formal crown. There was none to be found in the city, so it was assumed the crown jewels had either been stolen by the Dragon, or looted by bandits. Thranduil had offered to loan him one, but Bard refused. Thranduil's crowns were beautiful, but they reflected his Elven culture, with their meandering vines and leafy shapes. Bard would only wear a crown that depicted his own kingship and his own new city. It would not be a great start to the negotiations and the entire idea of the Three Northern Kingdoms, if there were such an overt sign of the friendship between the two of them. When he pointed this out to the Elvenking, Thranduil gave Bard an approving smile, and kissed him, for his brilliance. It would be better to go without. The Dwarves would likely accept this absence of deference due to circumstances beyond Bard's control, over any evidence of favoritism.

Percy and Hilda looked different than Bard had ever seen them. They looked almost like strangers, and they hardly recognized themselves. Hilda loved it. She was given a dress in green, a dark shade, to reflect the solemnity of the occasion, but elegant, and after the fashion of the People of the Lake, which she appreciated. She, too, wanted to represent the best of her folk, not look like she was "dressed in Elven hand-me-downs," as she put it. Percy was dressed in a tunic of dark blue, and, like Bard, wore black leggings. He looked uncomfortable out of his usual loose-fitting fishing garb. It took both Bard and Hilda a bit of coaxing to convince him that he looked fine, and he'd better get used to it in his new position!

The open hatred between King Dáin and Thranduil seemed to have tamed, somewhat. In order to encourage relations between the Elves and the Dwarves, Gandalf had served as liaison, and made sure each side understood what actually brought them to the valley of Dale with such hostility. Thranduil was made to understand that Thorin's message for aide was influenced by the Dragon Sickness. The Lord of the Iron Hills was told that the Woodland Realm and Dale had wanted to steal their entire treasure. He hadn't even told the others he had sent the Raven to Dáin, such was his paranoia.

For Dáin's part, he learned that Thranduil only wanted the necklace, and was told how Thorin promised a share of the gold to the Laketown people and then refused to give it. The rest of the original Company confirmed this. He was told of Thranduil's concern about Thrór having the Sickness, before the Dragon came, and his attempts to help the Dwarves immediately after, despite Thorin's unreasonable pride. King Dáin, at the idea of an Elf going behind Thorin's back for any reason, made him explode in temper. Gandalf, with great effort, helped him understand Thranduil only did so because there were the early signs of illness, and Thorin's people would have starved and frozen to death if Thranduil had not done it. As far as Thorin's insistence that they attack Smaug, Dáin needed no assistance from Gandalf to know that the idea was foolish and suicidal. As much as it goaded him – and it goaded him a lot – he admitted that Thranduil had done exactly the right thing.

The Elf and the Dwarf would never be close friends. But this information went a long way to ease their mutual hate. In an unexpected way, Tauriel, seemed to serve as a conduit between the nations. The original Company liked her, and respected her. Dáin, who was always fond of the Princes, was cordial and as kindly as someone like him could be. Bard suspected he especially liked her because she defied her King.

Bard looked over at the New King Under the Mountain. He was terrifying when he first saw him, in his full armor and ready to deal out as much death as he deemed necessary. He was still a formidable figure to behold. It fascinated him that he and Thranduil could be such complete opposites in looks and bearing, yet still strike such fear in the face of an enemy. He had seen the both of them at this, during the Battle. Their fighting styles were different, each using their natural strengths to benefit. Perhaps Dale's army would benefit with some training by the Dwarves as well as the Elves, to glean what skills they could.

Thoughts like that could wait, as the speeches were about to begin. Gandalf got up, raising his glass, and saluted all the Three Northern Kingdoms represented here. He talked of how the Valar had been looking out for all of them; had they not all been assembled before the gates of Erebor at that precise time, no one would have survived. While they all grieved at the loss of King Thorin and his Princes, the Valar had brought about the means to reunite the Kingdoms of the North and thus strengthen the area, which could only benefit their people. Gandalf paid homage to all the Valar, and Eru himself, while all members of the feast stood, and joined him.

Then Thranduil rose and gave a short speech thanking their hosts for the honor of witnessing such a heartfelt farewell to their comrades, and extended his best wishes to King Dáin, and his hope of renewed relations between their nations. This was met with polite applause, which was more than Thranduil had been expecting, as he told Bard afterward. So, this was an encouraging sign. Any huge change, such as this, could never be wrought overnight.

Next, Bard stood up, and raised his glass to the Dwarves. Out of nervousness, he had practiced his short speech endlessly. He was told that Dwarves hated flowery talk, which was a good thing, because so did Bard. He simply extended his sympathies to his Dwarf neighbors for their loss, and that he hoped that, as Dale was the center of the North, they would see his Kingdom as a friend, both in good times and bad. After paying homage to the new King, he spontaneously added his honest amazement at the beauty and craftsmanship that he could see in this mountain, and he looked forward to seeing Erebor, once its beauty and glory have been fully restored. This apparently was the exact right thing to say, as the Dwarves burst into applause and cheers.

Then, Dáin, Lord of the Iron Hills, King Under the Mountain, stood up and officially began his reign. Although sarcastic and irreverent when they met in battle, Dáin could be eloquent. After a brief greeting, he ordered all the Dwarves to stand, then they sang the Song of the Lonely Mountain:

Far over the misty mountains cold

To dungeons deep and caverns old

We must away ere break of day

To seek the pale enchanted gold.

The dwarves of yore made mighty spells,

While hammers fell like ringing bells

In places deep, where dark things sleep,

In hollow halls beneath the fells.

For ancient king and elvish lord

There many a gleaming golden hoard

They shaped and wrought, and light they caught

To hide in gems on hilt of sword.

On silver necklaces they strung

The flowering stars, on crowns they hung

The dragon-fire, in twisted wire

They meshed the light of moon and sun.

Far over the misty mountains cold

To dungeons deep and caverns old

We must away, ere break of day,

To claim our long-forgotten gold.

Goblets they carved there for themselves

And harps of gold; where no man delves

There lay they long, and many a song

Was sung unheard by men or elves.

The pines were roaring on the height,

The winds were moaning in the night.

The fire was red, it flaming spread;

The trees like torches blazed with light.

The bells were ringing in the dale

And men they looked up with faces pale;

The dragon's ire more fierce than fire

Laid low their towers and houses frail.

The mountain smoked beneath the moon;

The dwarves they heard the tramp of doom.

They fled their hall to dying fall

Beneath his feet, beneath the moon.

Far over the misty mountains grim

To dungeons deep and caverns dim

We must away, ere break of day,

To win our harps and gold from him!

Upon hearing these words sung so beautifully, Bard had a vision: His own city in all its former glory, the sun shining, children playing; Elves wandering the street talking and laughing with his people. There were also Dwarves busy at their work, creating the things that only they had the skill for. He could see the Dwarven men, women and children happily wandering through the vast halls of Erebor. He saw the flames and the terror the Dragon wrought, and there was Girion, trying desperately to save his city, using all but one of the Black Arrows.

Listening to words of the song, he could also see the Dwarves' hope and determination that they would one day return to their home. With this, Bard was moved to tears, as the fullness of what was finally restored to them, the fullness of what was given back to Bard's family, of the hope that was in the hearts of his people. When he shot the arrow into the Dragon Smaug's heart, he did it for his children and the safety of Laketown, nothing more.

Now, the enormity of this deed was felt, and he was overcome.

When his eyes cleared some, he noticed that he wasn't the only one who felt this way. Bilbo was openly weeping, as were many of the Dwarves, and Hilda and Percy were dabbing at their eyes. Thranduil looked pensive and sad.

After the song, Dáin raised his own glass, and gave his first decree as King: The Song of the Lonely Mountain was never again to be sung by any Dwarf, as, thanks to Bard, King of Dale, their Kingdom had been restored to them. He decreed that new songs were to be written, to honor Bard's brave deed, and to reflect the joy of his people in their new life here. He also said that, hereafter, the King of Dale, and his entire family, throughout all their generations to come, will forever be known as a friend to the Dwarves.

Bard was stunned. And so was everyone else, that wasn't a Dwarf. The applause was thunderous. Hilda hugged him, and urged him to stand up, and so did Gandalf. Thranduil looked up at him, applauding, and gave him another magical smile.

Bard was thankful that no one asked him to speak, because he wouldn't have been able to utter a word.

 **Ruins of Dale; 1st of December, 2941 T.A.**

It was the day after the funeral at Erebor, and Thranduil could delay this no further.

He had spent the entire day catching up on paperwork sent from his Realm, replying to messages and looking at reports. It was a busy, if uneventful day, and he was relieved to put a dent in the pile, before it got too out of hand. He wrote a small list of things to be brought from the palace, which would arrive with the next shipment of supplies in two days. Feren had taken most of the Elven Army home this morning to return to their duties there; he could not afford to leave his Realm with less than optimal protection for too long. Since Dol Guldur had been routed, this was a good time to take advantage, and clear much of his land of the spiders. And he followed Tauriel's earlier suggestion order them killed at their source. Feren will be returning to Dale to take command in Thranduil's place, while he is at Erebor.

Bard, in the meantime, was helping his own men with some physical labor something or other. He insisted, saying all this sitting around and eating was making him feel soft. "I'm not going to be one of those fat, lazy oafs like the Master was. My people need to proof that I'm willing to put my shoulder in with everybody else." Thranduil rolled his eyes, but really, Bard was right.

"You wished to see me, My Lord?"

"Yes, Tauriel, please come and sit down."

She knew what this meeting was about, and she looked terrified.

~o0o~

Thranduil had spent the last two nights reflecting on his long talk with Galion. To say it was a weighty conversation couldn't begin to describe it. Thranduil had been drained - an accurate observation, when one considers drawing an infection out of a wound. As hard as was, it to share his thoughts and feelings out loud it with Galion, it some brought clarity and relief. When Thranduil got into bed that night, he fell into a deep, restful sleep.

After returning from the Lonely Mountain yesterday, he decided it was time to speak to Tauriel about what occurred between them. He met with Galion and Feren, and told them of the context of her behavior. Feren was sympathetic, but not impressed enough to think laws should be broken. As her superior officer, he had the right to express his opinion and help decide her fate. He would never believe there was an adequate excuse for raising her weapon to her King. Thranduil, sadly, agreed. An explanation was never an excuse, and there must be consequences for one's actions; especially this. It was the consequences that were considered, in light of this context. He told his Aide and his Commander he had decided, and after some deliberation, Galion, and even Feren was satisfied with his course.

~o0o~

"We have many things to discuss, Tauriel, and I think it best to start with several apologies."

"Of course, My Lord, and I truly wish to. I beg your forgiveness for -"

Thranduil raised his hand to stop her. "You misunderstand me, Tauriel. It is I who need to express regret to you."

If she had been drinking when he said this, she would have choked on it, he thought to himself. If this wasn't so serious, it might be comical. But it was serious, and it was absolutely not funny.

"The first thing we need to speak of, Tauriel, is the situation between you and Legolas."

At this, her face fell, ashamed.

Thranduil took a deep breath, and said, "I want you to understand that I do not hold you responsible for whatever feelings he has for you. I have neither seen nor heard any evidence that you encouraged him, or gave him reason to hope. This was not your fault. To my great shame, Tauriel, I allowed you to think that I discouraged you because of your heritage. It was inexcusable to let any subject of my kingdom think themselves inferior because of their birth. It is not true, and I apologize."

"But…Legolas has left because of me!" Tauriel was near tears.

"I do not believe my son decided to leave just because of his feelings for you. The other reasons, and I must deal with that, when I am able. But Tauriel, even if you were the sole cause of his departure, you still would not be to blame. Frankly, neither is he." He looked at her with sympathy. "You have discovered recently, to your great sorrow, one's heart cannot be ruled by one's head."

Her eyes filled, and her hand went to her mouth.

Thranduil continued in a gentle voice, one he had not used with her in countless years. "It was good you came to Erebor yesterday, and I am truly sorry for your loss. I apologize for dismissing what you felt for your Dwarven Prince; it was wrong of me." He looked into her lovely, sad green eyes. "I have treated you badly Tauriel. I wish I could change it, but I cannot." He thought of her crying over Kili at Ravenhill, and how she cried yesterday, as she watched him be put to rest. She looked so lost, and his heart went out to her.

They paused for a few minutes, while she composed herself. Then he said, "As you well know, this is not the only thing we need to discuss. Tauriel, the time has come to discuss what your punishment will be for your desertion of my kingdom, and for your actions against my person during the Battle of the Five Armies." Tauriel turned white as snow, and another tear escaped one of her eyes, as she closed them. She became still, unable to breathe. Thranduil felt compassion for her, but he needed to make his edict to her as her King.

"Tauriel, I hereby declare your banishment as a subject of the Woodland Realm to be permanent, and your temporary assignment as Chief Guard to the Children of Dale to be permanent as well. From this day forward, you are no longer permitted to enter my Kingdom, unless it as an escort to the Children of Dale and only under extreme emergency. At that, you may only take them to the Palace Gate; you may never enter the Halls of the Woodland Realm again. As of today, you are a subject of Dale, and Bard will be your ruler."

The young Elf looked at him, and blinked at him, several times. "I do not understand, My Lord. I deserve death for what I have done!"

"I do not hold with Kinslaying, Tauriel. There are other kingdoms where this is practiced, but not mine, nor my father's."

"But surely there must be more to this, My King. I have committed an unthinkable crime, and I have no-"

"Yes, Tauriel, you do have an excuse. And we will discuss this. But first, you must have something to drink. I fear you may faint, you are so pale." He handed her a cup of water, and she hesitated to take it, astonished that her king was serving her. He set it down in front of her, and ordered her to drink it. He waited until she finished it all, and then he continued.

"In the midst of the Battle, I made the wrong decision. I gave the order to withdraw, and it was done for the wrong reasons. If we had left, the Battle would have been lost, and the Northern Kingdoms would fall, including the Woodland Realm. Your defiance was what saved us all, do you understand? As much sorrow as I feel over the lives lost, we were meant to stay. I see the Valar's hand in this now, although no one could have known this at the time."

"My Lord, I cannot say yet how to respond to this. I raised my bow to you, and that was treason! You must not set that aside. I am more sorry you can know, My Lord, but I deserve to be punished. I must be!"

The Elvenking was intrigued. "What are your reasons for insisting on your beheading, Tauriel?"

"My Lord, what I have done was unspeakable! I am ashamed to even think of it now. You took me into your halls, into your own home, when I was a child, alone and helpless and I repaid you with a threat against your life? I cannot understand why you do not hate me!" Her voice trembled, and she was still pale, such was her regret.

Thranduil regarded her stricken face with sympathy. "I could never hate you, Tauriel." He said, gently. "I understand that you are young, and what you did was an impulsive act, borne of desperation, and love. I regret my reaction as well." He sighed, then said, "This is not something I wish to do, but I must follow the laws of my Kingdom. I cannot allow myself to make exceptions, as much as I would like to. Do you understand?"

She then showed her quality by straightening her posture, saying, "If there are those who think raising a weapon to you would not be severely punished, it could be seen as an invitation to attack you! It could cause you to be in danger, My Lord, and I cannot live with this!" She held his look and as upset as she was, she did not back down.

"Peace, Tauriel. What you have said does you much credit. It proves my confidence in you to guard the King of Dale's children was not misplaced. Twice, you have saved them, have you not? I also want you know, I have shared my judgement with King Bard, Lord Galion, and Commander Feren, and they are in agreement with my decision." He smiled. "King Bard is delighted to have you here in Dale, and I imagine his children feel the same. They have grown quite attached to you, have they not?" he tilted his head. "And I think the feeling is mutual?"

The strain in her face lifted for a moment and she nodded with a small smile.

His voice was quiet when he spoke to her with compassion. "I believe you will be happy with Bard's family, but make no mistake, you have my sympathies. It may not seem difficult now, Tauriel; so many things are happening, in quick succession that I fear your loss will not fully make itself known for some time yet. How will you feel once there is peace? You will no longer walk through my forest, and hear the trees of the Woodland Realm speak to you, Tauriel. I fear you will miss your friends, and the songs you have heard all your life." He got up, walked to her and took her chin between his thumb and forefinger, looking down at her sadly.

"I understand, My Lord, and I am prepared to accept my punishment," She put on a brave face for him, but her eyes looked unsure.

"I do not think you understand, Tauriel." He whispered. "By banishing you, you will now, and forevermore, be deaf to their voice. I am so very sorry."

Thranduil's heart wrenched badly as he watched the meaning of his words sink in, and her face crumbled in despair and began to cry. He stood beside her and put his arm around her shoulders as she put her head down into her arms and sobbed. His throat hurt and his eyes stung as he rubbed her shoulders and wished he wasn't the King.

After his dinner, Thranduil was sitting on the cushioned throne, legs crossed, chin in his fingers, deep in thought. He had no choice in his sentence for Tauriel, and, she knew this. It still didn't make it easy, and he knew he would truly miss her in his home, her laugh, her smile and energy. She worked hard and was diligent, but she had a joy about her, and a lust for life. For centuries, she lived in his part of the Palace, in the apartment next to Legolas. When he returned home, the quiet and stillness would break his heart all over again at her loss.

~o0o~

She had been brought to the Palace, as a toddler, when an outlying village had been attacked by Orcs. He remembered the village, before the attack, it was small, but well-protected. An attack like that was rare, as he was fastidious about seeing to their safety. But sometimes, it couldn't be prevented. After inspecting the site with his troops, he was told that every Orc responsible had been found and killed. He was satisfied, but he was still furious at the loss of the villagers and several of those guarding it. These were good, peaceful people, part of his guild of weavers. His wife had loved the fabric they bought from it. After her death, he still made a point to keep his purchases the same, to help with their economy, and anonymously sent it to a human settlement to the West of them, to be used for their poor and orphans.

Their leader, Tasar, was hardworking and honest. He had no problems among them. There had been no disputes for Thranduil to settle, as Tasar was adept and solving problems within the village itself. His death, and that of those villagers was yet another example of the senseless death and tragedy this evil in his forest had wrought.

The soldiers told him there was a child, the little daughter of a couple was found, hidden in a compartment under the floorboards. Earlier, a lieutenant had heard crying in the house, moved the rug away, lifted the door and saw her, there in the dark. A small sleeping bundle with red curly hair was placed in Thranduil's arms. Her face was streaked with soot and tears, and she was clutching the corner of a sooty blanket. Then Tauriel woke up, making no sound, and looked at him with solemn, trusting green eyes. She blinked up at him, then reached up and touched his cheek.

Thranduil remembered well the day her parents came to the Palace to present her for naming. "Daughter of the forest" seemed perfect for her, then. Even then, as an infant, she had gazed up at him with those trusting, beautiful green eyes, and the Elvenking couldn't look away.

Thranduil couldn't say why this little one moved him so, and said nothing, but got on his Elk and carried her to the Palace himself, wrapping his cloak around her to keep her warm, as they rode through the forest.

What was to be done with her? Galion suggested she be placed in the Royal Apartments, as a companion for the Prince, and Thranduil agreed. Legolas had long reached his majority, and spent a great deal of time out on patrol, but he was still young, and might benefit from the company. Perhaps he could make it up to his son, if there was someone to feel close with, besides Galion. To an extent, it did. He remembered seeing them run through the halls, Tauriel toddling ahead, squealing with delight, while Legolas pretending to chase her. For several decades, the Royal Wing was livelier, noisier, happier.

That wasn't to say that he ignored her. Not at all. She would come and see him in his study, with her caregiver, or even on Legolas' hip, asking to see him. She was an engaging and adorable child, but the problem was, Thranduil just couldn't engage. He would hold cursory, short conversations with her, pat her on the head, then send her on her way, saying he was busy King, and must get back to work. He didn't stop Tauriel from asking to see him, but didn't encourage it, either. So, between her caregivers, Galion, and Legolas, she was raised.

But if she cried out in the night, as children often do, Thranduil was the first to reach her bedside. He would sit by her bed and hold her hand, until she fell back to sleep, and he'd watch over her to make her feel safe. When Thranduil suffered a nightmare, he'd tiptoe into her room and hold her in his arms, while she slept. That innocent, sleeping face and those red curls, help chase away the images and dreams that haunted the Elvenking.

The first time he had done this, he looked up to see Galion in the doorway, watching them and it was then that he realized why Galion wanted her with them, and it wasn't for Legolas. The Elvenking needed her as much as she needed him.

Perhaps Galion had also hoped Tauriel might bring father and son closer, but on the occasions that Legolas saw his father sit by his foster-sister's bedside, Thranduil saw hurt in his eyes.

Thranduil did reach a point, thanks to the little red haired Elfling, where he did feel strong enough to try and bridge the chasm and reconnect with his son, though. Galion had noticed this, and discreetly made excuses for them to dine privately, rather than in the Dining Hall. There was conversation, but it often was uncomfortable and forced. Thranduil would make an effort, but Legolas was so used to being pushed away, that now he pulled away. Tauriel, following every move her foster-brother made, took her cues from him. It all felt too late. Despite Galion's encouragement, Thranduil stopped trying, because he didn't know what to do, and it felt like a muddled mess.

~o0o~

And now, even Tauriel was gone. Her things were being cleaned out of her rooms in the Royal Wing, and to brought to her. His halls would never hear her voice or her laughter again. He was all alone again, it was his own fault, and his heart hurt.

He was so lost in his musings, that he didn't even notice the King of Dale's entrance.

"You look depressed, Thranduil."

He didn't move, didn't look at him. "I am," he said, and heaved a great sigh.

A goblet was pressed into his hand. "Here, my friend."

"I thank you." It stayed in his hand.

"May I ask what's wrong?"

He still didn't look up, just found interest in the dark red of his cup's contents. He finally looked at the Bowman, whose eyes were searching his own.

"I just had to pronounce Tauriel's sentence."

"What happened?"

Thranduil had been grateful to Bard for agreeing to her permanent assignment, but the Bowman assured him the blessing would be theirs. Her skill and agility in hand-to-hand combat was rivaled by few, and he was grateful for such excellent protection for his children.

Bard sat on the chair to the left of the throne, and listened to him recount the talk with Tauriel. Then he said, "I didn't know her relationship to your forest would be severed. I'm afraid I don't understand these things. She must be heartbroken."

"She is." Thranduil said, in a small, sad voice. He felt pain in his chest, knowing he had hurt her so deeply. "She has grown up with those trees and the animals. They have been her friends. Many of them had become sick, when the evil in Dol Guldur grew. But, to even travel on the path between our two nations to take your children to my Halls, she will not be able to hear them. It was a just punishment, even though I hated to carry it out. Knowing I had no choice, does not make it easier." Thranduil was still looking off to the side.

"This has been one of my worst moments as a King, Bard."

"I imagine I'll learn things like that for myself, soon enough."

"Yes, you will." Another sigh.

They sat in silence for a while.

"She expected to be killed, you know."

"Really? And is that something that Elves do?"

"There are other Elven Kingdoms that practice this sort of punishment against Elves. King Thingol of Doriath did. I do not know if Elrond of Rivendell, or Celeborn of Lothlórien carry out those sorts of sentences. I have no judgment against them if they do. But I do not, and neither did my father. That is not to say I am against it altogether. If there are outsiders who invade my kingdom, and threaten my people in any way, I have no qualms carrying out a swift and final sentence. In your own Kingdom, how you decide to handle such matters is your own affair; I will not judge you, either."

"Will Tauriel be able to find other trees?" Bard asked.

"Yes. I can only control the trees in my own forest. I hope they will forgive me."

"How old is she?"

"She is 617 years old."

Bard deadpanned, "Really? Just a baby, then."

Thranduil smiled. "It is true, she is young. I wonder if banishing her might not benefit her in the long run. Tauriel has always wondered about the bigger world. Prior to these events, she had never been outside of my Realm. She has a curious nature that might never be satisfied, had she stayed forever in my Kingdom. With you, she might see more of Middle Earth. She will protect your children as they they travel throughout the world on your behalf."

"You might be right. She's been hurt by Kili's death, something new and different could help."

I agree. I think that she will find the loss of my forest can be replaced by other things, which might bring her some happiness. It may bring her peace to be closer to Erebor."

"Thranduil, forgive me, but from everything you just told me, it sounds like you've not really meted out much of a punishment."

"Perhaps I have not. Or perhaps I am telling myself these things for my own comfort."

"So why do you look like you have had her decapitated?"

Thranduil sighed again, and said quietly. "Because I will miss her in my Halls. I am grieving for myself more than her."

"Why is that?"

A long silence. "Because she is my daughter."

Bard looked at Thranduil in surprise. "I had no idea."

"She is my adopted daughter, to be precise; we've had her with us since she was a baby."

Thranduil told his friend the story of how she came to live at the Palace, and some memories of her, growing up there.

He told Bard how, once, when she was small, she went missing, and everyone was frantic, searching for hours. She was finally found in a large cupboard in the kitchens, fast asleep, curled around one of the Palace cats, with a plate of half-eaten tarts in front of her. He talked of the little pranks she played, like sneaking up behind Galion, to pull his hair, and run away, giggling. She was the darling of all who worked in the Royal wing. She was ever-curious, and got into everything. Bard was amused when Thranduil told him no one could stay angry because although she was full of mischief, she was never hateful. The Palace enjoyed her sunny disposition, and her affectionate nature, as she always had her arms out to give hugs, kisses and giggles.

Everyone except me, Thranduil thought. He became sober, and fell silent.

"Do Elves have many children?"

"Not many. Since the forest became so sick, there have been fewer, but births are not as rare as outsiders like to think. We simply do not have big families like Men do. Elven couples usually only have one or two. Lord Elrond has three, but that is because the first two were identical twins."

"I can imagine for an Elf, three is a real handful."

"Oh, those twins were." Thranduil could not help his small smile. "Just one of those Ellon was harder to handle than anything Legolas or Tauriel could come up with. Two of them was almost impossible. There was no peace at Rivendell for nearly 120 years." He huffed a laugh. "I felt genuinely sorry for Elrond and Celebrian. Even now, the twins are wild, and pull outrageous pranks, when the mood strikes them. Their reputation is the stuff of legend, but I think they are good for their father. Elrond is weighted down by many cares, and those two prevent him from drowning in it all."

"Oh, I'll bet." Bard grinned. "Speaking of Legolas, where is he? I haven't had a chance to thank him for helping my children at Laketown, and for helping with the refugees. I can't find him, and when I ask Daeron, all he would tell me is, 'I cannot say, My Lord.' I asked Tauriel last evening, and she looked like I slapped her. Did he go back to Mirkw-, sorry," Bard winced, "I mean, the Woodland Realm? Is he running things there for you?"

Thranduil froze. His knuckles were white, and he was glad the cup was metal. If it were glass, it would have broken.

"Thranduil?"

He closed his eyes and tried to calm the wave of anxiety that wanted to steal his breath away, but Bard had become important to him, and he was terrified of losing him. Thranduil took a deep breath, then another...

"Thranduil?" This time Bard was sounding seriously concerned for him. "What's wrong?"

His voice trembled when he forced himself to say the words. "Legolas is gone."


	11. Chapter 11

17

 **Chapter Eleven**

 **Ruins of Dale; 1st of December, 2941 T.A.**

This time, Bard was the one to give instructions to the Guards.

"Which one of you speaks Westron?" he asked, and when an Elf nodded at him, he said, "Good; you'll do. Send someone right away to tell Tauriel to put my kids to bed, and to stay with them. I'll be late, so she can take my cot if she wants." He turned to the other guard. "King Thranduil and I are not to be disturbed, understood?"

"Yes, My Lord." And the orders were carried out.

Bard took the Elvenking's goblet, and set it on the table, then dragged his chair closer. He sat down, took the Elf's hand and sat, while he silently cried. Eventually, Thranduil squeezed his fingers, and began to calm down. When he finally stopped, the Elf reached in to his tunic, and started wiping his face with a grey handkerchief.

Bard broke the awkward silence with a wry smile. "I don't know about you, but I've done more bawling in the past six weeks then I have in years! Ulmo's Balls, is it something in the water? Seems you're always yanking that thing out of your pocket."

Thranduil couldn't help but laugh, as he wiped his eyes. He eyed his kerchief, observing, "I have always carried one of these, out of habit; now, I am continually reaching for it. I think you may be right," he sniffed. "Perhaps, Mithrandir has put something in the wine."

"Could be. Want another cup, so we can blubber some more?"

He laughed again. "I am afraid to say yes, but I would like some."

After the wine was gotten, and given, Bard sat back down, and they were silent for a few minutes. Then, he gently prodded the Elvenking, "I know you might not want to talk about what you just told me, but I think it will help," he said to the lowered blond head.

"May I ask you something, Bard?" Thranduil looked up at him.

"Sure." Bard encouraged him, "Have at."

"When was the last time you talked about your wife?"

"Well, the other night, I was telling Sigrid how much she was like her mother." Thranduil looked impressed, so Bard was quick to add, "Look; I don't want you to think it was easy for me, because it wasn't. It was torture – every bit of it. When Mattie first died, I couldn't talk about her at all. I... just couldn't. The pain was... I can't even describe it…" Bard swallowed, and leaned down, elbows on his knees, his cup in his hands. "Talking about those first few months - even thinking about them - isn't easy. Did I tell you how she died?"

"Yes. The first day we met on the river, you mentioned it. She died giving birth to your youngest, yes? And you named her after her mother?"

"Oh, that's right; I did... Truth be told, I avoided the subject for a while, just to stop feeling like I was…I don't know…bleeding inside all the time. Losing Mattie was the hardest thing I ever had to face in my life. Part of me still can't believe it really happened." Bard swirled the wine in his glass, and studied its movement, as he gathered his courage to continue.

"I had to go on, Thranduil, though I admit there were times I didn't want to, but I had no choice. I had a brand-new baby, and two young children, so I kept going for them. Sigrid was only eight, and Bain was six, and they kept asking about their Mam. They didn't know any better, and couldn't understand why she was gone. I just... didn't have it in me to answer them." Bard swallowed again. "That was a tough time…" he blew out a breath, and studied his cup, lost in thought for a moment. He took a big swig, and continued. "I couldn't have gotten through any of it, without Percy and Hilda."

"What made you want to speak of her again?" Thranduil wanted to know.

"Oh, I didn't want to, believe me!" Bard huffed. "I just kept my head down and plowed on, and I suppose I could have gone on looking down at the ground forever, but Percy had had enough of that. One day, he asked me to go out fishing with him, and took us way out on the Lake, out of earshot of everybody and anything else. Then I started getting the nets ready, like usual, but he stopped me."

"I do not understand," Thranduil said. "Why?"

"Because he set me up." The Bowman sighed. "He told me to sit down, then he started talking about Mattie; how much he and Hilda loved her and missed her, and all the good times we had together."

"What did you do?"

"I just sat there and stared at him; I couldn't believe he wanted to cut my insides up like that! It felt cruel, and bloody fuck, did it hurt! I thought he was betraying me; that he was enjoying making me feel so much pain!"

"I doubt Percy enjoyed that," Thranduil's voice was soft, but curious.

"No, but I didn't see it back then. Finally, I'd had enough, and started yelling at the top of my lungs, and told him to stop. I called him every filthy name I could think of." He gave the Elf a sheepish grin. "I'm pretty good at cursing."

"I am aware of your grasp of vulgar language." The corner of Thranduil's mouth went up. "You gave an excellent demonstration the night you ruined your sword. You were quite…creative."

Bard smirked. "I suppose I was. Anyway, I kept screaming at him. I was trapped out there on the Lake and there was no getting away from him, which is what he'd intended all along. It was Percy's boat, and I couldn't force him to bring us in, so I was good and stuck." Bard shook his head and laughed. "I wanted to throw him overboard, and told him so!"

"What did he say to that?"

"He said, 'First of all, you're a fucking idiot if you think you can best me in a fight. Second, you throw me overboard and I'll take the bloody oars with me.'" Bard snickered, and Thranduil joined him.

"And what did your friend Percy do with all of this noise you were making at him?"

"He just… sat there." Bard said with amazement. "Didn't say a word; he just let me yell and scream, which I did plenty of, I can tell you. When I finally tired myself out, all he did was nod his head, and say, 'I think you're going to be all right, boy.' I didn't know what he meant then, but I do now. Percy dragged my arse out to the Lake many times, but I finally started to move past it. They knew I needed to keep Mattie's memory alive for the children, especially Tilda, but they wanted me to keep her memory alive for myself, too. The more I went out on the lake to hash myself out with Percy, the easier it got. But, even so…" Bard closed his eyes. "It was…a hard, hard year..."

"I am sorry Bard. I did not think of how difficult this would—"

"No, no, it's all right, I promise." Bard placed his hand over Thranduil's and squeezed it. "After a while, it was easier to speak to the kids about her, which helped them, too. Then, I would remember some small, silly, stupid thing she said or did, and the memories started to feel good." He smiled at the Elf. "It's funny: you always think it'd be the big things you'd remember the most, but that's not true at all. It's all those little, ordinary, _'nothing'_ moments, that run through my head..."

He sat back and took another drink. "Thranduil, I'll always hurt that she was taken from me, and I'll always love her. There's a piece of my heart that belongs to her and nobody else, but she'd never want me to be miserable and tragic for the rest of my life. She'd want me to be happy for myself, not just for my children."

Thranduil looked down at his hands. He didn't say anything for a long moment. "Thank you, for telling me this," he whispered.

"Of course, Thranduil; we're friends." He reached over and took the Elf's hand, and kissed it. "Maybe we're more. Either way, I'm glad to be here, and I'm glad I know you."

"I am glad, also." Thranduil still didn't look up at Bard.

"Are you all right?" he entwined his fingers with the Elf.

A heavy sigh. "I honestly do not know." He was looking down, at their hands, clasped together.

"Can I help?"

"I am afraid you will not want to, after you know the truth about me."

Bard looked at Thranduil, beginning to feel nervous. "What is it? Is it something about me, or Dale?"

"No, no, no," the Elf was quick to reassure him. "Nothing like that at all; please do not worry about that. Everything we have discussed and decided has been honestly done." Thranduil hesitated. "This is... something about me." He stopped, and swallowed.

"You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to. Just know that I am here, all right?"

"I need to tell you, Bard. I want you to know this, because I do not want you to think that I am something I am not."

"Well, I've seen plenty, and so far, except for sticking your nose in the air once in a while, I see nothing that would change how I think about you."

"But there is something, Bard!" There was real fear in the Elvenking's eyes. "You deserve to know what I am really like."

"What do you need me to know?" The Bowman prodded.

"I…see how you are with your people, Bard, and... I admire how easy it is for you to speak with them, but I am not like that. I used to be, but not anymore, and not for a long time."

Bard wasn't sure if he should ask the question, but it seemed a logical conclusion. "Was it after your wife died?"

Thranduil froze, and his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. He squeezed the Elf's fingers, and after another long pause, there was a whisper. "Yes."

"That doesn't make you cruel, Thranduil. It just means that you've had a hard time with her death. Can I ask you something?"

The Elvenking gave a small nod.

"Those gems you wanted from Erebor - did they belong to her?" As soon as the words were out of his mouth, as soon as Bard saw the look on his face, he understood. "Thranduil, I'm really sorry. When you first came to Dale, I thought you were crazy to want to risk war for something like that. I honestly didn't know."

"I think you understand, now. But it was still a foolish thing to do. I should not have done it, no matter how badly I wanted them."

"Oh, I don't think wanting your wife's jewels were to blame. Remember when we were up on the rampart the other night, and you told me how the Valar helps us? Maybe it had something to do with that, and you were meant to bring your Army. In any case, like Gandalf was saying at Erebor, here we all are, and this is a new beginning for the North. Don't beat yourself up. To be honest, if my Mattie had something that precious, I might do my damnedest to get it back, too." Bard squeezed his hand.

The Elf closed his eyes. "But… Bard… What if you lost something even more precious than that? What if you…ruined something that meant the most to your wife, something she loved more than anything, and you could not repair it?"

Bard sat for a long moment, considering. "Thranduil," he whispered softly, "where is Legolas?"

After taking a deep breath, the Elf said, "Legolas… has left me, and I do not know if I will see my son again." He pulled his hand away, crossed his legs, and covered his face. The fingers holding his cup were white, from gripping it so hard. "I am not as strong as you, Bard. You are open and warm with your children; it is easy for you to show your love! You hug them, you kiss them, you laugh with them. I am glad for you, but it grieves me to see this, because..."

"Because why?" Bard kept his voice gentle.

"Because I used to be like that; truly, I was. But when... I was alone, I pulled away from my son. It was cruel; he needed me, and I could not… He was so young when—" Thranduil couldn't finish his sentence.

Bard sat back in his chair, and tried to think of something that would help. He remembered something Percy had said on the Lake, and thought it might be worth a try. "So... you stopped loving Legolas?"

"No!" The Elf lifted his head and glared at him. "I could never do that! I have _always_ loved my son!" he told Bard angrily. "You have no right to say such things!"

Bard raised both hands, and said gently, "Please; don't be angry with me. I just wanted to remind you."

"What could I possibly have forgotten?" Thranduil's face still bore the sting of Bard's inference.

"I wanted to remind you how it feels to say you love your son, out loud." Bard was perfectly serious. "How long has it been, since you've actually spoke the words?"

Instantly, the fight drained from the Elf. "I am ashamed to say I do not know." His eyes pleaded with the Bowman to understand. "Please, believe me: I _do_ love my son." he whispered, looking into Bard's eyes. "He and Tauriel… I love them both, but I destroyed it all. And now…"

"Why did he leave?"

"Part of the reason is because he developed feelings for Tauriel, which she did not return. She sees him as an older brother. If that was the only reason, he might come back, but I do not think he will. I do not think he will ever want to."

"Why do you say that?"

"He is gone, because I was a terrible father. A good father does not avoid his children, and I did. He looks so much like my wife, and I could not look at him without reliving that terrible day..."

"You said something like that when we spoke of the Battle, do you remember? How you became lost and didn't know what was real?"

Thranduil gasped in distress, and nodded. "It was a cruel thing, and I did not mean to, but I pushed him away." He hardly got the next words out. "And now…it is too late. He believes…I did not want him, anymore."

"Oh, Thranduil…" Bard put their cups on the table, then pulled the Elvenking into his arms. He didn't know what else to do; he couldn't imagine what this must be like, and his heart hurt for the Elf.

After several minutes, he kissed Thranduil's temple, and eased him back down to his seat. Then he pulled the other chair even closer, so it was sitting in front of his throne, with Bard holding both his hands.

"Is Legolas just wandering, or do you know where he is?"

"I sent him to find the Rangers in the North. Their base is in Rivendell, and I want to send a message to Elrond to expect him, and to notify me, should he come to any harm." Thranduil's eyes closed in despair. "Bard, I despise myself for how we parted, and for so many things I cannot change, too many things that cannot be made right. I am sickened, when I think how I..." His eyes spilled over with tears.

"And you love him."

"Yes, I do. I love my children, though they believe me to be a monster. Maybe I am; maybe you see me differently now, and I cannot blame you, but I did not want to keep this from you and make you feel like I was trapping you into friendship or manipulating you."

Bard reached over and touched the side of his face, using his thumb to wipe away a tear. "Can I ask you something?"

Thranduil nodded. "Of course; I want you to be my friend."

The Bowman smiled and caressed his cheek. "I get the impression from you, that your children were deprived of all affection. I don't think it's true."

"No, of course not. Galion made sure they had everything they needed. The children found a father figure in him, and he loves them dearly. We also had a nanny named Nuriel who looked after them as a mother would." The Elf winced. "But it does not make up for what they should have had from me."

"I won't insult you by pretending that's not true, but you can't let what's happened in the past stop you from doing what's right, today." Bard squeezed his hands. "You're not the bastard you think you are."

"What do you mean?"

"Thranduil, anyone can see Galion is devoted to you! _All of your Elves_ believe in you, and they love you! You can't fake that, my friend." He grinned. "And despite what happened between you and Tauriel, still looks up to you, and not just as a King. If you're ready to try to change things, you know Galion will help. Your children trust him, and he can help them learn to trust _you."_

He leaned over and kissed the Elvenking. "I'll help you, too, if you'll let me."

"You will?" Thranduil asked him. "You do not feel differently about me?"

"What you just described is not the person I'm learning to know; I don't see a cold, heartless, King, Thranduil."

"But, Bard—"

"Wait; let me finish." He saw the Elvenking about to protest. "Let me tell you what I think, all right? I think you were so torn apart by her death, you didn't know what else to do to stop bleeding inside. I've been through it, remember? You hid inside yourself for a while, yeah? But that didn't mean you stopped feeling all of it, did it?"

The Elf shook his head, not taking his eyes off him.

Bard asked gently. "Are you hiding now?"

"I do not think I am, anymore."

"I don't think so either. In fact, I know so, and I can prove it." Bard took the Elf's face in his hands and said, "I saw the way you were with those children the other day. That is the Thranduil I know, and learning to care more about every day. That's who you really are. It's how you were with your wife, when she was alive - you've just forgotten for a while, don't you see?"

They looked at each other, then slowly brought their foreheads together.

Bard continued, "You'll never have to wonder if you could've loved your wife better, and that's a good thing, love. I wish there was something I could say to help with the time you lost with Legolas and Tauriel, but think on this, Thranduil: your children are still here. Even if you can't change the past, you still have time to change things, _now._ You can make it right, again. I promise you, it's not too late."

Thranduil's whisper was so low, Bard could barely hear him. "I do not know how to do that."

"That's all right; you don't have to know right this minute. For now, think on how much you want to." He kissed the Elf's forehead. "Think on how much I know you wouldn't hurt your son or daughter, if you could help it. Just think on how much you love them."

At this point, they both had tears on their faces.

 **Ruins of Dale; 3rd of December, 2941 T.A.**

"Have the items I requested from the Palace arrived yet, Galion?"

It was two days after Thranduil's confession about Legolas. Bard had been attentive and considerate with Thranduil, holding his hand under the table, and kissing him, between meetings, and at lunch, making sure the Elvenking knew his feelings had not changed. Thranduil still berated himself; he probably always would, but it helped a lot to know Bard understood. He understood _everything!_ To Thranduil's surprise, he didn't even think badly of him, and this gave him hope for himself.

"The items came just this morning, with the reports from Commander Feren and the notes from Royal Council, My Lord. They are on your bed. Also, the package you've been concerned about is finished, and in the box on your bedside table. I took the liberty of having some more clothing brought for you, as it seems we will be here for quite some time."

"Excellent. Thank you, Galion."

Thranduil was excited, although no one would ever notice it, apart from his Chief Aide, of course. Throughout the day, he nagged at Galion, about the dinner being served tonight for Bard and his children, and make sure all was in place. Galion took it all in stride, and had the good sense not to be annoyed. He was pleased to see his King take such a personal interest in Bard and his family.

He had loved Thranduil since he was born: he had helped raise him, saw to his schooling, arranged for his military training, and was witness to all the milestones in his life, first as a Prince, then as a King. He rejoiced when Mírelen came into his life, and he loved her too. When the Queen was giving birth, it was Galion who paced the floor with the expectant father, until a small cry was heard in the Royal Apartments of the Palace. It was Galion who the King turned to, in that joyous moment, and threw his arms around his Aide and friend. It was Galion who observed the look of wonder on his face the first time he saw his tiny son.

When the Queen was taken from them, Galion stood next to him at the funeral, and kept his hand on the King's arm the entire time, offering silent strength, as Thranduil stood there, frozen and deathly pale. His eyes were dry; he had no more tears left to shed, so Galion cried for him, for all of them.

He never left his King's side, during all those years of loneliness, and prayed earnestly for a way to help him. Now, it seemed as if those prayers had been answered. Galion had been observing them since the Battle, and he realized Bard was good for Thranduil; he was slowly finding himself again.

If this Man could bring him some happiness, then the Aide was determined to help it along, regardless of any consequences to the Woodland Realm.

"My Lord; King Bard, Prince Bain, Princess Sigrid and Princess Tilda have arrived."

"Thank you, Galion." Thranduil was in his sleeping chamber, checking some last-minute things, and making sure his hair and outfit were just right. It felt a bit ridiculous to be fussing so, but he couldn't help it; he was nervous. After a bit of a debate, he decided against wearing his crown, and dispensed with his formal robes, settling for a grey tunic and darker grey leggings. They were the plainest things he had with him; he wanted Bard's children to feel comfortable, so, ornate clothing might be off-putting.

His family was everything to Bard; what if they didn't like him?

 _Stop,_ he told himself.

Thranduil checked his appearance in the looking glass for the third time, blew out his breath, plastered a smile on his face, and walked into the Main Area to greet his guests. "Good evening everyone! I am glad you could come."

The children bowed and curtsied politely to Thranduil. They must have been practicing, as it was very well done. Bard gave him an official nod, and said, "Good evening to you as well, Lord Thranduil. We are glad to be here."

"I thank you. Now, let us dispense with Royal Titles, shall we? I would like us to be at ease, and enjoy ourselves, what do you think?" he looked at the children for their approval, and they all nodded their heads, relieved. "Please, sit and make yourselves comfortable." As they took their seats around the table that had been set with bowls and plates, Thranduil said, "I have heard a great deal about all of you from your father, and even the Lady Hilda has had much to say about you. I wonder though, if you have any questions for me?"

They all seemed shy at first, and Bard sat in his chair with that half-smile of his, waiting for one of them to speak. They were all surprised when it was Tilda who piped up first.

"I think you have pretty hair."

"Why thank you, Tilda. That is a nice thing to say. I do rather like it myself."

"It's very light, and so is Legolas's. Most of the other elves have darker hair," Sigrid observed.

"You are correct. That is because my father and mother have light hair, and did not come from the Woodland Realm, though Galion and some of my stall came to the North with my parents. We are Sindarin Elves, or Grey Elves, in the Common Tongue. The other Elves you see are called Silvan Elves. They have always lived in the Greenwood, and their hair is usually brown, or auburn, like Tauriel."

"What's the difference between you? I didn't know there were different kinds of Elves."

"That is an excellent question, Bain. There are many types of Elves, and all have an interesting history, but tonight I will tell you about the land of my father, and how we came to be here."

So, he told them of Doriath, how Elu Thingol met and fell in love with the Maia Melian, the protective girdle she placed around their kingdom, and the vast beautiful caverns Thingol had made for his people. "In fact, when our own Palace was shaped and built, my father wanted it to be very much like Menegroth, because he had loved it so."

"What happened to make you move to Mirkwood?" At the name, Bard cleared his throat and subtly shook his head at Bain. "Oh, sorry."

"That is all right, although I much prefer if you call it the Greenwood, or the Woodland Realm, if you would. I like to think of it as it was, in hopes it might be again, someday. To answer your question, Bain, I have never seen the caves my father grew up in. I was born after he and my mother traveled to this area and became King and Queen."

"Is Menegroth still there?"

"I am afraid not; it is now under the Sea of Beleriand. I am glad my father wished to preserve some of the beauty of it in his own Kingdom, and kept the memory of it alive."

"What happened?" Bain asked, interested.

"There were terrible battles, but I will not speak of that just now. It is much too pleasant an evening to be thinking about such things, do you not agree? Perhaps, some other time, Bain, I will tell you of it."

"Your father must have been _really_ old," Tilda said. Bard raised an eyebrow at his daughter and tried not to smile.

Thranduil was unruffled. "Yes, he was. He was born during the First Age of Middle Earth, and he left us at the end of the Second Age. He was a very good King."

"Are you old too?"

He laughed, and smiled at her. "Yes, I am afraid I am."

"How old?" she asked, but Bard gave her a gentle, warning look, and she shrunk down a little, embarrased.

"It was a fair question, because you know little about Elves, is this correct?" All the children nodded their heads. "I can assure you that, although some of the race of Men do not like to be asked their age, particularly the females, we Elves do not mind it in the least. I was born towards the end of the Second Age of Middle Earth, by your calendar, in the year 2537. I am now 3,845 years old."

Three pairs of eyes as wide as saucers looked up at him, and he smiled, amused at their amazement. He even saw Bard having difficulty taking it all in.

"Whoa…" Bain breathed.

"That's really, _really old!_ " Sigrid stammered, and Tilda's mouth just hung open.

"I believe our dinner is ready now. Galion is serving the stew you all seemed to like so much, and the Lady Hilda has given our cooks quite an education regarding your preferences. Shall we see if they can cook as well as she?"

Galion entered the tent with a tray, holding a serving dish of the venison stew, full of vegetables and potatoes, and a plate of rolls with butter. Bard had asked for simple fare, as the informality might help them feel comfortable. There were even glasses of goat milk for them. Before the Desolation, Bard couldn't afford it that often, and the children thought of it as a treat.

While they ate their dinner, Thranduil asked the children their ages, and what some of their favorite things to do were. Bain, who was thirteen, was full of questions about his weapons, and all the armor worn by him and his Army. He spoke in admiration of Tauriel's bow, and her twin knives, and told him how she demonstrated her quickness with them. This impressed the boy, which reminded Thranduil of Legolas's curiosity when he was that young.

He asked fifteen-year-old Sigrid what she thought of the Healers she had met, when they all were visiting their troops. Thranduil agreed with Bard, that the children should be given vocations and have tactile ways of serving their people, not just be figureheads. He was encouraged to see the children also wanted this for themselves.

"And now, Miss Tilda, can you tell me what it is you like to do?" he asked the seven-year-old.

"Well, I liked to help Sigrid with the house - when we had one - and Auntie Hil was teaching me my letters. I can write them, too. I can read some, but not much. I love to draw things, when Da could get paper. I just learned how to tie my shoes, by myself, too."

"That is a big accomplishment, I must tell you. My son Legolas took a long time to do this. We were becoming worried he would never learn. Poor Galion was afraid he would have to follow Legolas when he was out on patrol, to tie his shoes for him!"

Galion, in the spirit of things, nodded to Tilda, and said, "Yes My Lady, I am afraid it is true. At the time, Prince Legolas had no desire to learn such things. He was quite stubborn, and was only too happy to let others do it for him. As a last resort, I had to tell him he could never be a soldier unless he learned to do such things for himself. Soldiers of the Woodland Realm simply could not run, or jump through trees with loose laces. So, if he still refused to learn, then he would have to work in our libraries, copying scrolls and books all his life."

They all laughed at that. Bain then said, "Boy am I glad he did! It was _amazing_ when he and Tauriel came to our house! He was _so fast,_ and had one Orc's head—"

Tilda was becoming uncomfortable, so Thranduil gave Bain a patient smile. "I would like to hear about the brave deeds of my son, so perhaps you and I could talk in greater detail some other time, yes? Without our lovely ladies, here?"

"Oh, right," Bain apologized. "Sorry."

"Do not be. I see you are interested in military matters, and this will serve you well."

Galion had cleared off their dinner dishes, and was refilling everyone's glasses. Thranduil had taken pity on Bard, and sent for a different vintage of wine, which was much less potent. When his Aide returned, he was bearing a tray with a large plate full of berry tarts, and set them down with a smile.

Their chatter continued, during dessert. When they were finally done, Bain asked to see his armor, and Thranduil was happy to show him, as it truly was beautiful. He told Bain how it had been forged with mithril by the Dwarves of Moria, as a gift from his father. It was fitted and made after the Elven door there was made by Celebrimbor, when there was friendship between Dwarves and Elves. Thranduil explained how nothing could penetrate it, yet it was light enough, so he could move around quickly.

He also showed Bard and Bain his swords, with the intricate negative-space vine and leaf carvings in their handles. Even the girls were fascinated with them. He showed the differences between them, the one that belonged to his father, and the one he had been presented with. Bain was allowed to hold one, but only in its sheath, as they were sharp enough to split a hair.

The boy was surprised to learn Thranduil took care of his armor and weapons himself.

"Of course, I do, Bain. It is every soldier's duty to care for that which protects him. If one suffers injury because he neglected his armor and weaponry, he only has himself to blame. I am no exception. In fact, I enjoy doing it; it helps to relax me after a skirmish, or even when I practice."

" _You_ still have to practice?"

"Oh, yes! I practice regularly, to keep my skills sharp. I have a set of dulled swords, the same shape and weight to spar with. To excel at anything, one must be completely dedicated and disciplined. I have no doubt you will be the same."

Overall, it was a wonderful evening, and he could see the children thought so, as well. All too soon, it was time for them to go, as Tauriel and Daeron arrived, to escort Bard and his family to their tent.

"I hope your father does not mind, but I have some things I would like to give you." Bard looked at him, with a puzzled smile on his face. Thranduil sent Galion in to the other chamber, and he returned with some books.

"Sigrid, Princess of Dale, my Chief Healer told me your questions to him were thoughtful and detailed, and he was impressed by your eagerness. These are books that have been copied in Westron, written by Elrond Peredhel, the most powerful Healer in Middle Earth. This volume contains herb-lore and is full of drawings of different plants and their uses." The other book was heavier. "This details the treatments of injuries and illnesses, suffered by the race of Men. It also includes information on the treatment of Elves, and even some Dwarven references, although not many. May they both serve you well,."

Sigrid gasped at the treasured volumes, and managed to say, "I promise to take good care of them, My Lord. Thank you!"

Then he turned to Bain. "I can see from our conversation this evening, my gifts to you were a good choice." Galion brought Thranduil a bow, and a practice sword. "Your father has given his permission to have Tauriel begin your basic training. She, as you know, is skilled with fighting knives, but everyone must begin by becoming proficient with a sword. In my Kingdom, an Elf must earn his sword, and it is an important milestone in his or her life. I hope this will help you achieve this goal, and it would be my great honor to present you with an Elven sword, as a gift from the Woodland Realm, when it is deemed you are ready. Here is a practice sword, suited to your size; we will replace it, as you grow in body and skill.

"This bow also matches your stature and strength, though I have no doubt you will soon earn a full-sized weapon. Your father is an expert Archer, and you will find no better teacher. May you become the fiercest warrior Dale has ever seen, Bain, son of Bard, Crown Prince and Future King of Dale."

Poor Bain was speechless. He held the items reverently, running his fingers over the rich wood, and the steel of the sword. He looked up at the tall Elvenking and tried to form words that would suffice to show his gratitude, but nothing would come out. Thranduil smiled, placed his hand upon Bain's head, and said, "You are most welcome."

He caught Bard's eye who was visibly moved by this generosity. Galion then brought a long, wrapped bundle and set it on the table. Thranduil turned to Bain, again. "I hear your father broke his bow, the night you both saved your people. It is hardly possible for him to instruct you without one, is it? This Elven bow is of the highest quality and will serve the King of Dale for many years."

Galion unwrapped the bundle, to reveal a full-sized Elven bow made of yew wood. It had been polished to perfection, and inlaid in gold, with the meandering vines and leaves of the Woodland Realm. Beside it, was a leather quiver full of arrows. Bard's eyes were wide with surprise, as the children gasped, and the enthralled look on the Bowman's face told him it was exactly right.

Bard's eyes searched for his, as if shaking himself awake. "Thank you, Thranduil. This is..." He swallowed. "I've never had one as good as this." He tried to keep his voice steady and light, but there was no mistaking the emotion in his words.

But he wasn't done yet, and he had saved the best for last.

Thranduil went down on one knee in front of Tilda, and even then, she had to look up at him. "So, now, we come to you, _Tithen Pen_ , which in my language means, 'Little One.' Your father will be a good King, and I think you will be an excellent Princess. I know this, because you are trying hard to learn your letters, and to read, and to help others. Tauriel tells me that Master Bofur, has become a friend of yours?" She nodded. "This is good. Things are always easier when if you have friends to help you adjust to your new life, and I hope you and I can become friends, as well.

"I know your life has changed a great deal, and sometimes it is hard to get used to things, so I would like to help you with that." Galion was standing by Thranduil's side and handed the wooden box down to the Elvenking, so he could present it to her. "It is my honor to give you this, and I hope it makes you very happy, Tilda, Princess of Dale."

He held out the box to her, and she looked down at it for a long, quiet moment. Everyone went still, and all eyes were on the little girl, as she slowly opened the box. There, repaired, restored, re-sewn, and with all-new red woolen hair, lay Charlotte. Sigrid clapped both hands over her mouth, and had to turn away, to contain her emotion. Bard's eyes filled with unshed tears, and he steepled his fingers and brought them to his lips. Bain just stood there, his eyes popping.

Tilda slowly picked up her beloved doll, as if she was in a dream. She was silent and still for many minutes, and Thranduil set the box in the ground with a worried look at her father. Perhaps he had made a mistake; would this trigger bad memories, and upset her more?

He was beginning to feel terrible.

Tilda started to make little gasping sounds, and her mouth started to turn down a bit.

Thranduil winced, and closed his eyes. _Oh no..._

Before he could finish his thought. Two arms were suddenly wrapped around his neck, her face buried in his shoulder, and she was hugging the King of the Woodland Realm as hard as her little body would let her.


	12. Chapter 12

_**SUMMARY** : Bard and Thranduil each take some time to reflect, and search their feelings._

 _Bard has an unexpected visitor, with some sound advice._

 _Thranduil knows what he wants, but has a huge problem._

 _Is there a solution?_

 _xxxxxxxxxxx_

 _Hope you enjoy this latest installment!_

 _Thanks always for reading, and for your kudos and comments!_

 _ **xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**_

 **Ruins of Dale; 3rd of December, 2941 T.A.**

It had been an excellent evening.

After dinner and his Little Bean's joyous reunion with her friend, they all wiped their eyes, and said their thank-you's and goodbyes. The children kept up a happy babble on their way back to their own place, to get ready for baths and bed. It took a long time for them to settle down, because they were all so excited about their gifts. Once everyone was clean, Bain was sitting on his bed, running his hands over his bow, his fingers tracing the Elven words written on it. Sigrid was sitting cross-legged, looking through her new reference books, and Tilda was almost asleep, with Charlotte back where she belongs.

He couldn't believe Thranduil had found the doll, and the excellent job they did restoring her. The surprise didn't end there.

After Tilda had finally let go of her new friend, the King of the Woodland Realm, Galion cleared his throat, saying, "Excuse me My Lord, but I believe there is something else in the box, if the Lady Tilda would wish to look." If it would have been behavior becoming an Elf, Galion would have danced a jig, because he knew what was in there. Not even Thranduil knew about it.

Tilda lifted the little blanket underneath Charlotte, then squealed with delight.

The Tailor's Guild of the Woodland Realm had jumped at the challenge given to them by their King; to make the bedraggled, bloodstained doll look as good as new. Once that was finished, they had decided one set of clothing simply wasn't befitting a toy for the smallest Princess of Dale, and they were determined to rectify this. So, Charlotte was returned to her owner, accompanied by an entire wardrobe.

Sigrid knelt on the rug with her sister, going through everything the Elves had outfitted Charlotte with. Several dresses, in varying colors and styles had been provided: The everyday clothes were simpler, then a formal little gown in blue, after the fashions of the Laketown women. There was another formal gown, such as elves wear, in lavender, with gold embroidery. There was even a green uniform, like Tauriel's, complete with a little soft, leather jerkin. Additionally, there was a grey riding outfit, nightshirts, underclothes, stockings, cloaks and even several pairs of tiny boots and shoes.

Thranduil had stood up, while the girls were examining the contents of the box, and went to stand next to Bard. They both looked over at Galion who was as smug as Bard had ever seen him. "Did you know about this?" Bard asked him.

"Yes, My Lord. I cannot take credit for the idea, but I must say I heartily approve." From the look on Galion's face, he was having more fun pulling a fast one his King.

After they went back to their tent, long after his children were asleep, Bard sat at the table in his tent for a long time. His new, magnificent bow and quiver had been wrapped again lovingly, and put away under his cot. The lamps were lit, some papers were on the table in front of him, but he couldn't concentrate on them, so he sat back, and crossed his feet on another chair. His fingers absently stroked his chin, as he contemplated many things.

The last six weeks had been such a whirlwind. Love for his family had always been the main motivation for his thoughts and actions. Even the smuggling he did for the townspeople, stemmed from his need to provide for them. He did what he had to do - with the high taxes the Master had imposed, his kids would have been undernourished and ill with what his normal wages would buy. It was more to the good that other townsfolk had benefitted, too.

But it all was different, now! He'd never have to worry about his family eating well again, thanks to Thranduil. He knew until Dale could be self-sustaining, the Woodland Realm would provide it. This blessing would be the same for all his people; a plenty they'd never known, and a hope they had never known. After all the hardships and tragedies wrought upon his people, this was a new, better beginning.

His children were now a Prince and Princesses, and their lives were going to change in ways even Bard didn't know yet. He hoped their eagerness to serve would sustain them, because it will be an enormous adjustment to go from a poor, anonymous child, to representing your country every day, and the pressure on them would be great.

Ever since Mattie died, those three had been the most important beings in his life, but now, something was changing. Nothing would lessen his love or devotion for his children, but his heart was making room for something else.

His heart was making room for someone else...

He'd never been with anyone in a physical way before Mattie. In his youth, there were flirtations, some kissing, with both men and women; he enjoyed them both. Apart from some groping, a hand on a girl's breast, or another boy putting a hand on his cock, that had been it. Back then, those were dalliances of the young, based on hormones, infatuation, and curiosity. It felt wonderful, but wasn't the stuff of songs.

When he first saw Mattie, he felt like he'd been struck by a thunderbolt. Yes, she was beautiful and had eyes he could drown in. But he wanted to drown in her. He was lucky she felt the same way, because it would've been torture had she not returned his feelings. In this sense, he felt pity for Legolas. He couldn't imagine what the boy was going through.

Bard couldn't help but laugh. Boy? _Ulmo's Balls..._ the Elf was probably a thousand years old! Now that was hard to get used to; the agelessness of their race.

When he and Mattie were married, their first night together was something that will burn in his memory forever. The incredible feeling of her soft, warm skin next to his; her beautiful body under his hands, exploring her, suckling on her breasts, while she moaned softly, her hands tangled in his hair. When he entered her wet, soft heat for the very first time was a perfection he had never even known could exist in this life.

Of course, men would talk about sex; they always talked about sex, didn't they? They made lewd jokes and sang bawdy songs and tried to make light of it. They bragged about their members, lied to each other about their accomplishments, trying to give the impression their conquests were many, and casual - Bard had done his share of this, too.

But when a man has really been with someone, body and soul, and when the act was borne from genuine, consuming love, it was completely overwhelming. After experiencing it with Mattie, Bard understood why many men turn into braggadocios: They were frightened, that's what it was. How could they not be, after they learned that truly making love with someone would slice open their souls, leaving it so bare, so open, so exposed?

That's what it was like with Mattie. He couldn't help but cry out when he first entered her, and it only got better from there. He couldn't begin describe the sensation the first time he came inside of her, and to feel her pulsating around him when she climaxed. It was like being enveloped in pure sunlight. Afterward, they lay in each other's arms, full of love and wonder. It was like that each time with her. For ten years, he was lucky enough to know the most perfect bliss this side of Arda.

When she died, it wasn't just his soul that was bereft; his skin screamed in agony at the sudden loss of the greatest joy it had ever known- joy it would never feel again within her. He'd never feel her softness or warmth again, never hear her soft cries as they were together. He still had physical needs and desires, so on the nights he would touch himself, it was Mattie he was pretending was there with him; thoughts of her moist heat, her hands, her mouth, her face, her noises, would cause him to get even harder, until lightening ran down to the base of his spine, and he found release. And he would lie there afterwards, feeling even more alone.

As Bard sat in his tent, thinking on these things, the memory of his wife and his loss washed over him anew. He missed her. Oh Valar, he missed her… He would've been the happiest man alive, if he could have grown old with his Mattie, to have her and hold her always, and watch their children grow up and give them grandchildren.

But it hadn't happened that way. Suddenly she was gone, and he'd been with no one since. It wasn't as if he didn't think about it; there were certainly a couple of women in Laketown who would've been more than willing, as well as one man. They were good people, too, and would've done their best to make him happy, and been kind and loving to his children.

He even stepped out a couple of times, in an attempt to move on with his life. Hilda forced him to try, but he just couldn't go far with it. When he kissed them – and he only kissed two, mind you - it was full of…nothing; it was the only way to describe it. Those kisses just reminded him of that void Mattie had left behind, and it was foolish to try and find something which he'd never have again. The attempt made him lonelier than ever.

Bard had decided that part of his life was over forever, and he should feel thankful he had it at all. Not everyone was blessed enough to find such a perfect match for his heart, and despite his loss, he was thankful. Best to let it go, and be done with it, he told himself. And he had. He resolved to let his memories be enough, and learned to find contentment with his children, and with his friends.

Then a bunch of Dwarves washed up on the shores of the Forest River, and the Mountain shook with the sounds of the Dragon awakening, and all he had known was gone. He was left with his children and the clothes on their backs and nothing to eat, when an Elvenking rode into Dale. During the last month and a half, he found himself questioning all he believed about himself, and his solitary life.

Everything was different, now. He thought about Thranduil constantly. He dreamed about him, even; one night he woke up to find he had come on himself during a dream of their bodies locked together. Then, when had his nightmare, he met Thranduil on the Eastern Parapet, and was taken to his tent. That night, he couldn't stand it anymore; he had to know what those lips tasted like! Maybe it was the wine that made him brave, but he had reached for the Elf, and hung on. Just the thought of it, even though it was only kissing, made his cock twitch now as the blood rushed to his loins.

He wanted Thranduil. He did. Valar, simply thinking of putting his hands on him, to feel him, to come in him, or perhaps Thranduil inside of him… Bard moaned softly, as he closed his eyes, and forced himself to stop thinking about it. He had to stop, because Bard had things to consider, before things went any further.

This was the fork in the road, and now was the time for him to decide which path he wouldtake.

At this point, he'd still be able to cease thoughts of Thranduil as a possibility for the good of his children, for his people, and this new Kingdom of Dale. He could do it, if he stopped right now. They could back off, and remain simply friends, and he could find a way to be content with it. It was important he consider carefully, because there wasn't just his own, or even Thranduil's feelings involved. There was so much outside noise about all of this, and it all had to be settled before he would feel free to follow where his heart seemed to point.

He had to think of the children first, of course. Would they be all right? Would a relationship with the Elf benefit them, or could it hurt them? Would they be damaged at all, if something were to happen that ended their relationship, such as a separation, or death?

No. Even if the worst were to happen, they would be fine. Should something occur that would should cause a break-off with the Elvenking, the children had enough support and love from so many others, they would make it through. Plus, and this was a huge consideration: Thranduil possessed quality and honor and would still maintain affection for them, should he no longer have it for their father. And if Bard were to die, he knew Thranduil would watch over and support throughout their lives.

What about his people? How would they feel about their King being with an Elf? What about the fact their King would be with another man? He knew there were a few people that held strong opinions in his country. But, overall, this was not something to be worried about. There was a blend of cultures in Laketown, and he was looking forward to continuing this, in Dale. Middle Earth was not riddled with the utter stupidity of religious or moral wars. Yes, most of the reasons for starting a war were senseless, but never something so ridiculous as murdering people because they had different theologies.

 _So that's settled,_ he thought.

Dale is a new country - what about diplomatic relations? This is a grave concern. What if Dale had to depend upon a relationship with a nation that had serious issues with it? Bard didn't know how countries in other lands would feel about a King being with a man, and it could cause consequences for his people.

But that was no longer an obstacle. His country was under the permanent protection of the Woodland Realm. Two days before, as promised, Thranduil presented him with the document bearing his seal and signature which affirmed the Woodland Realm's commitment to protect and aide Dale, with no expiration date. This reassured Bard his city was safe regardless of what would come.

He had also heard there was a country to the East of them whose ruler had seven wives! It stood to reason, the various Free Nations who were willing to treat with each other did not seem judgmental about traditions of the other, so that was a huge comfort.

Finally, it was down to the Elf himself. What would Thranduil want out of this? Did he want the same things Bard did? What are their traditions and their customs concerning such a thing? He honestly didn't know. He knew he wanted Thranduil. He knew he could love him; he probably already did. But, Bard knew himself: He could never settle for a meaningless dalliance. It was simply not what he wanted, and he couldn't pretend otherwise. He wanted to be all in, heart and soul, or he would have to walk away. He couldn't be something he was not. If he tried, it would end in disaster.

There was another problem. This was the biggest obstacle, and the final one.

Bard's life span would only allow him another thirty-five to forty years. More if he was lucky; less if he was killed or fell ill. Either way, Bard could live the rest of his natural life happy with Thranduil. Long or short, he would have a happy end. But there was no conceivable way for the Elvenking to have the same. For him, it will end in grief…

How could he do it to him, if he truly cared about him?

At this, Bard let out a sad sigh, and closed his eyes.

He should forget this whole thing, no matter what Thranduil wants. He'd been horribly scarred by the death of his wife, and the loss of his son! How could he go through with this, knowing he'd tear Thranduil's heart open _again_ when he died? It was reprehensible! If he were to allow himself to be with Thranduil, even if they had several decades of happiness, Bard would end up abandoning him, leaving him grieving, again.

 _No._ He could never let that happen. This all must stop, and it must stop _now_. Bard did love him; he had to admit it to himself. But he loved Thranduil too much to cause him pain. He was going to step back, stay friends with the Elvenking, and offer companionship, but no more. It might be enough. He'd make it be enough, for Thranduil's sake...

Something happened then.

And for the rest of Bard's life, he would avow the truth of what happened next.

He felt a warm hand on his chest, filling his heart with warmth, and he gasped.

" _Bard?"_ A voice said his name.

He looked up, and there she was.

Mattie, _his Mattie_ , with her light brown hair, those amazing blue eyes, and the face that made him her willing prisoner.

She was ethereal, almost transparent, but she was there…

A sob escaped him; he couldn't help it, he missed her so much. Mattie tilted her head and smiled patiently at him. She opened her mouth and he heard her beautiful voice, like a whisper on the wind; her beautiful voice that could sing and wake the whole world up in the morning…

" _Bard, my love?"_ she asked, in that same loving, no-nonsense way of hers, _"Would you have wanted me to stay away from you, if we'd known I wouldn't be with you for long?"_

"Oh, my Mattie," he sobbed, tears on his face, "My Mattie..." It was the only thing that would come out of his mouth; it was what he always called her.

" _Should I have turned away, if we knew I would leave you?"_ She asked again. He simply sat, staring at her, afraid to answer, lest this vision, or whatever it was, ended. But she was demanding an answer from him, and he made himself think about it.

It wasn't a tough choice, after all.

"No, my love." Bard stood up before the apparition of his Mattie, and stepped closer to her. His voice trembled, as he whispered softly, "I would do it all again, a thousand times, if it meant I could be with you,"

He meant it. He couldn't imagine a life without Mattie, or the children she gave him, and the moments of pure happiness he had had with her.

Her next words filled his heart with hope:

" _Don't be afraid to love again, Bard. You were the best of husbands to me, and you're good and kind to our children. I'm glad I'll always be in your heart, and you'll always be in mine. But, now it's time for you to go."_

Then she gave him the same smile she used to give him in the mornings, before he went out on the lake. She would hand him his lunch, kiss him, then turn him around and give him a shove in the middle of his back…

…which he felt. He felt warmth of lips on his, that very same hand on his back, he knew so well... Mattie smiled and said the words he heard each morning as he walked out the door.

" _Now, be off with you, my handsome man, and bring the world home for supper!"_

And she disappeared.

Bard sat back down and covered his mouth, as the tears fell. Was that real, or did he imagine it? Was he losing his mind?

But he knew she had been there. More important, Mattie was right.

It was time for him to go.

He shot up out of his chair and grabbed his coat. He went to the entrance and saw Tauriel in front of her quarters next door. "Tauriel, if you wouldn't mind staying with the children, something has come up and I have to go. Now."

"Of course, My Lord. I will watch over them as long as you need me to." She gave him a reassuring smile.

"I…don't know if I will be back tonight, so if you would please get them off tomorrow?" He was a bit sheepish.

"If the children ask, I will tell them you were called away. I should to tell you; Sigrid has her suspicions, although she has never said anything to me."

He let out a long breath. "Is it that obvious?"

She smiled at him. "Not to everyone, but I know the King more than most, and I have not seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you. Pardon me for saying, but I see the same in you. Your oldest daughter is blessed with a keen eye, as well. But I do not think any others have bothered to think about it."

He smiled back at her. "You certainly are pardoned. I consider you family, Tauriel, and I appreciate your thoughts and ideas. Don't ever think you should hold back if you have something to say, all right? I suppose, since I am your King now, I should make that an official edict."

"If you like. Either way, I will follow your instructions, as I am fond of your family."

"Thank you." Bard turned to go.

"My Lord?"

"Yes?"

She put her hand on his arm. "I wish you well. You both deserve to be happy."

Now that he had made up his mind he couldn't wait to start this part of his life; he would follow this path, until something or someone stopped him.

 _He had to find out._

Bard strode through his settlement and toward the Elvenking's tent at a brisk pace, with Daeron keeping up behind him. As he walked, his heart started pounding, and he moved faster, as if he was afraid Thranduil might be gone, if he didn't get there _right now._

When he finally saw Thranduil's tent up ahead, he did start running. He reached it, and ran inside...

 _Thranduil_ _had_ _been_ _waiting_ _for_ _him_.

 **xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

After dinner, Thranduil had managed to hold back his tears when little Tilda hugged him so tight. His heart swelled to know he had made her so happy. She was such an enchanting child; her big blue eyes could melt the heart of and Orc, she was so sweet. All of the children were sweet.

Bard and his family had left his tent with their escorts, leaving it almost too quiet. He had enjoyed listening to them talk; they were intelligent children, and Bard, despite their former straights, had raised them well. Their questions were amusing, but well-intentioned, especially little Tilda's. Bard had been keeping him abreast of her recovery, but he was gratified to see it for himself.

When Legolas was small, he loved to hug his mother and father like Tilda; so tight, as he they couldn't escape. It used to make Mírelen laugh, because no matter what trouble Legolas would get into - and he could get into plenty – he'd make up for it at night with those hugs. He probably did it because he knew it kept his parents from staying mad at him; he was a smart little ellon, and wasn't above using his cuteness to get his way.

When Tauriel was child, after they had finally found her in the kitchens when she had gone missing, Legolas was a wreck. He was already grown, so he had forgotten the times he had frightened the wits out of the Palace by hiding in places even Thranduil hadn't known existed. As Thranduil carried a sleeping, jam-covered Tauriel back to their rooms, he told Galion perhaps Legolas was getting his comeuppance; the mischief he'd caused was more imaginative than anything Tauriel could come up with.

He wished Mírelen could have known the little red-haired elleth. She'd be the first to suggest moving her into the Royal Apartments, and would have insisted she'd be put into the nursery adjoining their bedroom, and love her like her own. She and Thranduil had always wanted another child. Having Legolas made their life so rich, they could only imagine how much more it could be if a little brother or sister could have joined them.

Bard's words about going on after he lost his wife, Matilda, resonated with him. Especially when Bard said he would always love her, but how it gets easier to remember the good things, after a time. Maybe this was the case for himself, as well. Maybe Thranduil's reluctance to face his loss head on, was because he was afraid this love would leave him altogether, and he'd be left even more bereft.

Oh, he missed Mírelen! He truly did; she was continuously in his heart, in his thoughts, and she always would be. Yet, despite stubbornly avoiding it, his sense of love and loss had changed over time.

It was a mistake to remove all the reminders of her - he knew that now. How could he honor her memory if he tried to pretend as if she'd never existed? For all that she was to him, for all that she was to his people, she deserved to be forever honored as a good elleth, a wonderful wife, a loving mother, and a Queen who was as devoted to their people as he was.

" _Goheno nin, Meleth nîn."_ Thranduil whispered to Mírelen, hoping, somehow, she could hear him. He wanted her forgiveness for neglecting their past.

When he returned home, he would rectify this. Her portraits and tapestries would be hung up again, and he would rescind his decree not to say her name in his presence. It was a beautiful name, she was beautiful; it was time to start thinking of their memories as beautiful, too.

He had been in mourning for her longer than their marriage had even lasted! Thranduil wondered: if he'd known he would lose her like he had, would he have still married her? Would he gave gone through with everything? Excluding Legolas, - who he couldn't imagine not having - if he knew when he wed her, that he would suffer centuries of agony for it, would he do it?

He knew his answer immediately.

What they'd had, what he felt when he touched her hair, her face, and her body; what he'd felt when they made love. When she sat beside him in the throne room, or when he saw her across the table in the mornings, and looking sleepy and grumpy. What he felt, when he saw her face holding their brand-new son, was worth it.

It was _all worth it._ He knew this in his heart now, and it somehow made it easier.

But... he had begun have real feelings for Bard, though he never expected to. Thranduil didn't understand how it was possible, but there it was, and it was time to face it.

Something began when they started meeting in his tent, in the weeks before the Battle. Then, during their meetings after, it blossomed. Things felt so right when he was around, and when he wasn't, there was an increasing sense of his absence, of something missing.

The night Bard spent here, when they were kissing in his bed, was the most physical contact he had had in countless years; of course his body would react after so long without!

But, when he woke up wrapped in Bard's arms, it was…he couldn't come up with words, how it was.

Yes, he wanted Bard's body, and he wanted it badly. It had been weeks since he had helped Bard into his bath, and the memory of his muscular body, with all that hair was the source of wanton fantasies that left him aching at night.

Thranduil wanted to bed him, yes, but it was more than that; he wanted _all of Bard._ He wanted Bard's heart, his spirit, his intelligence, his natural leadership, his love for his children.

He wanted all of Bard, because he loved all of Bard.

He hadn't known it for certain, until he'd looked over Tilda's shoulder and met Bard's eyes that were looking back at him with something made his heart leap. In that moment, Thranduil realized, he was deeply in love Bard, Heir of Girion, King of Dale.

Thranduil was scared to death. This should feel wonderful, but it didn't. This was dangerous. How could he let this happen?

"My Lord?"

Galion entered Thranduil's, tent to find him sitting on his cushioned throne, and staring off into space. Galion was surprised to see him so sober and pensive, after the merriment earlier this evening.

"Yes, Galion, what is it?"

"There is nothing, Sire. I simply wanted to ask if you were all right. If I may, you seem rather lost in thought, and I was afraid there might be something amiss."

Still not looking at his Chief Aide, Thranduil spoke, "It was a successful dinner with Bard's family, was it not?"

"Yes, it was, My Lord. For my part, I enjoyed it very much. They are good children."

Thranduil turned his head and smiled up at Galion, "Your surprise for little Tilda was a success, and a thoughtful touch. Thank you."

Galion grinned. "That it was. I shall relay your compliments, as well as the children's enthusiasm, to the Guild. They did a fine job."

"Speaking of the Tailor's Guild, if they would be willing to make some more toys for the children over and above their own duties, I will see they are well-paid. I think it will help the young ones, as I see how much comfort Tilda finds in her doll. Let us particularly make sure the orphans have as much as they can."

"I will send a message to them tomorrow, to start right away." Galion gave a conspiratorial grin. "I wonder if they are not already doing this, though. Tauriel tells me the Dwarf Bofur has expressed a wish to also present them with toys. I find it hard to believe our Elves will allow themselves to be outdone; it would be a matter of pride."

Thranduil gave a little laugh. The idea of the Dwarves and the Elves competing over how much they could give to those children amused him, and would only bring joy to the little ones. "I would not be surprised, but I think it would be good for them to have compensation for so much work. Their time has already been taxed, making clothing for the refugees. They are coping well."

"I will also send your sentiments regarding this, if I may. They have been working hard, and they will appreciate it."

"I still have not broached the subject with Lord Bard about the welfare of the orphans, but I plan to soon. I have sent orders to the Palace to have guard rails put up on the walkways, in the event there will human children coming. I'm going to suggest they come and winter in the Palace. At the least, the Prince and Princesses of Dale will be visiting the Palace, now, and I will not compromise their safety." Thranduil told him.

"Excellent notion, Sire. Even the adults of the race of Men lack the balance of Elves, so it will protect them as well." Galion had not thought of this, but he was glad to see his King had. The idea of visitors and children wandering the Halls pleased and excited him.

After a moment or two, Thranduil seemed to have decided something, and gestured to the other armchair.

"Please sit, Galion. I would like to speak with you."

"Of course." Galion sat, waiting expectantly. "Is there something on your mind?"

Thranduil crossed his legs, and stared off into space again.

"I was thinking of how much I miss my wife."

The Chief Aide was taken aback. It had been a long, long time since they spoke of her. "I miss her as well," he said quietly.

"I know you do. We all do. She was… She was perfect for me and Legolas, and she was perfect for all the Realm. There will never be another like her."

"I am glad to know you are thinking about her, Thranduil. I want to say, if I may, I am glad you are speaking of her as well, even if it's only a little."

"I think of her all the time, though I have tried not to." As he looked off, his eyes blurred. "I did not think I would ever get past losing her…" He sniffed, swallowed, and ran his hand over his face. "Did you know Bard also lost his wife?"

"I had heard something to that effect. Childbirth, am I correct? I have heard this can happen with their race."

"Little Tilda never knew her mother."

"It is sad to think about." Galion waited for more.

"I…" A heavy sigh. "I do not understand how… I still miss Mírelen, but now I feel…"

After a moment, Galion said, "Yes?"

"I think… _I know,_ I have developed feelings for Lord Bard, and I do not know if it is right."

He said it. It was out, and this encouraged Aide, who kept his voice calm and soothing. "Can you tell me why you think this way?"

"I have already loved once, Galion! I loved Mírelen with all my heart, and our _fëas_ were joined! I did not think it could happen again."

"It is extremely unusual, Thranduil, but it has happened. Finwë, if you recall, had two wives."

All Elves knew the story of Fëanor, and the Silmarils, but it wasn't often recalled his father had been married twice: His first wife had been Míriel Serindë, mother of Fëanor, and after her death, he had married Indis, mother of his four other children. Thranduil's cousin's wife, Galadriel, was descended from that second union.

Thranduil gave a sarcastic laugh. "That story ended well, did it not?"

"But you must consider that it was a different Age, and it was not on Middle Earth. I believe these are crucial differences. Plus, this is the only second marriage we know of in Elven Lore, but that does not mean there might not be other Elves who have married twice. If they do no great deeds, their lives do not tend to be recorded."

The King considered this. "This is an excellent point."

"May I speak freely, Thranduil?"

"Yes, I would like you to."

"I have noticed you and King Bard have become close friends. I have wondered if this was going to be something more, which seems to be, from what I can see of you two looking at each other. I was surprised at first, but not in the way you might believe. I, too wondered how this could be, as you were joined with Queen Mírelen, but I did not worry much."

"Why not?"

"Because I have seen what your time with Lord Bard has done for you! The answer as to _how_ you can care for him, is beyond my ability to know, so it does not matter; I am just pleased to see some happiness return to you."

"Bard is not an Elf." Thranduil said.

"It is of no consequence, I think. The King of Dale embodies the best qualities of his race; he is honest, hardworking, has a desire for wisdom, and a deep love for his family and his people. I believe he is worthy as Consort to the King of the Woodland Realm, not merely to Thranduil, the Elf."

Thranduil gave a wry laugh. "I do not think the Council would share your sentiments. They will certainly want to have a say in this, because my decision to join with someone of the race of Men could jeopardize the Woodland Realm."

Galion's eyes widened, but said nothing.

"Even if Bard was willing, my Kingdom must be my first priority, Galion. If I join with Bard, I could become Mortal, and who would be there for my people?"

Thranduil got up and started pacing, becoming agitated, "I have done my best to run my life, run my Kingdom to benefit my people. I even was willing to die for it when..." He couldn't speak of the Dragon.

"I have done _everything_ I believed the Valar wished me to, and what is my reward? My father was taken from me, and I carried on. My mother left me, and I carried on. My wife was taken from me, and I struggled not to fade. I carried on, half of what I once was, _for my Kingdom!"_

He was angry, now. "And, because I did not fade, I barely functioned as an Elf and I ruined my relationship with my son! _For my kingdom!"_ he roared, and his hands clenched at his sides.

"Then this Man, this human is suddenly here before me, and I cannot stop how I feel! I love him, and I cannot not have him!" His voice broke, and he stood still, looking up at the ceiling, and swallowed.

"Worst of all, Galion, Bard will be here for decades; barely out of reach for me! I will have to endure his presence, knowing I turned away a chance at love, and when he dies I will mourn for him as if he was my mate anyway! FOR MY KINGDOM! What am I supposed to do!"

He gave a loud growl, and went to the small table by his throne and swept it free of its contents, sending papers and his empty cup flying. Then he leaned over it, grabbing the edge with both hands, panting slightly.

Galion listened with sympathy. His King was finally beginning to come alive inside, to feel things deeply, and it might be that he will have to face yet more tragedy. It was hard to believe the Valar could wished this for Thranduil! Galion found it difficult not to be angry on his King's behalf.

Thranduil calmed himself, and wearily sat down. "I am sorry I shouted. I am tired of looking to the Valar for guidance, and being rewarded by grief." He wiped his eyes, then rubbed his forehead.

"Galion, I know how I feel. I know for me, it is too late; I am already in love with Bard." Thranduil closed his eyes and whispered, "I think I have known this for some time, but I was afraid to face it." Then he looked at Galion with weary eyes, and asked him, "Why would they be so cruel? I do not understand why this happened, unless it was only to dangle this in front of me, knowing I could never grasp it? Why?"

Galion's eyes blurred. It _was_ a cruel situation. He loved this Elf as a son, and he watched for all his King's life how hard he worked to please his parents, his people, his wife, his Kingdom, and the Valar. It was unfair, to know he would once again be facing loss.

Yet, the Aide had hope in his heart.

He put a comforting hand on the King's knee. "Thranduil, I cannot be convinced all is lost. I understand why you question all of this, and it yes, it appears to be pitiless, but I suspect this is not what is intended for you. There has got to be a way to answer these questions."

Thranduil, frustrated, angry and hopeless, answered with sarcasm, "Oh? And who do you think could possibly help me?"

"I have an idea of someone…"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 **ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:**

 _Goheno nin, Meleth nîn_ – Forgive me, my love


	13. Chapter 13

**Ruins of Dale; 3rd of November, 2941 T.A.**

"Bard! Come in, come in! We've been expecting you!"

The scene was not what Bard pictured before he rushed in to Thranduil's tent. Not in his wildest imagination could he have foreseen this - and during the last couple of minutes, he was imagining quite a lot.

And why was he "expected?" No one knew he was coming; he didn't know himself until ten minutes ago…

"Gandalf! What in Mordor are you doing here?" It was out before Bard even finished the thought. "I'm sorry," he winced. "That was rude."

"That's quite all right. Now, if you could take a seat, we've got something important to talk about, don't we?"

"Uh…is something wrong? Has something happened?" Bard pulled out a chair and joined the Wizard and the Elvenking at the table. Gandalf was relaxed and rather smug, but the Elf looked confused. "Thranduil? What is it?"

Gandalf spoke up before Thranduil had time to reply. "No, let me assure you, nothing is amiss. At least, not right at this moment. Now, I, for one would like some of that great Dorwinian, wouldn't you? Thranduil, Bard looks like he could use a stiff drink, and it looks looks like you could, too. In fact, just bring the whole bottle; we might need it."

Oh, shit… "There is something wrong isn't there!" Bard's stomach started to flip.

"Again, let me assure you…"

"What the bloody fuck is going on here?" He would have never sworn at a Wizard, except he was a bit, well... horny.

Thranduil finally piped up, "It seems before I had a chance to send for Mithrandir, he showed up, knowing I sought his counsel."

"Counsel? For what?" He turned to Gandalf, "How did you know I would come?"

"Because I was told you would. Now, please sit down. Here's your drink -"

"Who told you I would? I don't understand!" he took the cup from Gandalf, and took a long pull from it.

"Now just let me remove my hat and get comfortable." Gandalf got up, set it on the small table over beside Thranduil's throne, then he returned to his seat and took a long drink from his cup. "Thranduil, this is an excellent vintage. You have my compliments."

Bard narrowed his eyes, wondering what the Gandalf would do, if he dumped his drink on the Wizard's head.

"For Valar's sake..."

"You know," Gandalf crooked a finger, "it's funny you should mention that…"

They both paused, looking at each other, then turned to Gandalf.

"Mention what?"

"The Valar!"

"The Valar?" Thranduil asked, even more confused.

"You mean... the Valar Valar?" Bard asked.

"Yes." Gandalf said.

"And I'm not supposed to be frightened out of my wits?"

"That is true."

Bard looked back at Thranduil, who shrugged. Getting answers out of a Wizard was apparently just as hard as trying to getting one from an Elf.

At this point, Bard was wondering what Gandalf would do, if he punched him.

Mercifully Thranduil help him avoid violence, by saying, "I know you are enjoying yourself, Mithrandir, but I can assure you, Bard and I are not. Now please explain why you came here, unannounced—"

"But I didn't come unannounced. You sent Galion to come and get me."

"And you met him at the entrance of my tent, saying I was expecting you. Now please—"

"You see? I wasn't unannounced, was I?"

"GANDALF!" Bard roared.

"All right, all right." Gandalf grinned, raised his hands. "I'm sorry; just having a bit of fun with you. I've got a difficult and exhausting job, and it isn't often I have good news; I wanted to enjoy it for a bit."

The Kings looked at each other, and looked back at him.

"You have good news?" Bard wanted to be certain. "This is good news?"

"Yes, for both you and Thranduil, if this is something you both want."

Bard's jaw dropped. "But how do you... I mean, we haven't even…"

"As I was trying to tell you, the Valar has gotten involved in your situation, and they have asked me to come to render their decision. What you both decide to do with it, is up to you. I cannot counsel you on this, so you must carefully consider what they have laid before you."

Gandalf's eyes rested on Bard. "First, I must start with you. Bard, Son of Brand, Heir of Girion, King of Dale, Dragonslayer—"

"Please don't call me that. Please."

"You don't want to be called King of Dale?" Gandalf teased, again. At Bard's murderous look, he said, "Sorry. I'm finished with the mirth, I promise. I'll be serious.

"In fact, what we are about to discuss is quite serious, Bard, because you are, in fact, a Dragonslayer. You are one of a very few who accomplished this in all the Ages of Middle Earth. These fell creatures had been made by Morgoth, out of fire and sorcery during the First Age. I know the name of every person who has caused their deaths. They are all enjoying their reward from the Valar for these great deeds.

"To kill such a powerful, magical creature can only be done with the purest of intentions toward others, not oneself. Your ancestor, Girion, also had such a heart, and because of this, he was able to break off a scale; one more shot, and he would indeed have killed Smaug, but he was killed himself, before he could accomplish this. Girion's efforts count for much, with the Valar. He too, has been rewarded, where he is now. What this is, I cannot say, but you must trust me."

"But I didn't..."

"I know when you killed Smaug, you didn't expect to live through it. You were willing, without hesitation, to go up against such a frightening creature to save your children, were you not?"

"Well, yes, but it doesn't mean I wasn't frightened out of my mind." Bard looked at Gandalf with confusion. He looked over at Thranduil, who seemed moved by what the Wizard was saying, but he looked nervous, too.

"That does not matter. Bard! Do you think anyone would have blamed you if you, too, had run from such terror? Be honest. The others ran. You did not."

"I suppose not, but I had to try, at least. If I could stall for time, my family could get out."

"Yes! And you did try! Do you understand? It didn't matter that you were frightened. It didn't matter that you went up on the bell tower knowing you had little chance of success, or even living through it! What mattered was, you did it. You faced a creation of Melkor, just as Girion did."

"What about Bain? He was with me too, and he's as responsible as I am for Smaug's death. He was the one who brought me the Black Arrow in the first place."

"I agree. And I will discuss this with you, once we're finished." Gandalf finished his drink, and held it out to Thranduil for more.

Thranduil filled their cups, then he and Bard waited for the Wizard to continue.

"Before I go on, Bard, I need to tell you something that I doubt Thranduil has mentioned."

The Elvenking, gave Gandalf a warning look, and shook his head. "Mithrandir, do not—"

"I'm sorry, but I must. He must understand fully, and so must you."

Bard was confused, and apprehensive. "Thranduil? What is it?"

"Bard," Gandalf told him, "You're not the only one sitting at this table who has slain a Dragon."

What?

Bard's eyes bulged, and he searched the Elf's face.

Thranduil looked at Gandalf beseechingly. "I…please do not…"

"I understand, my friend. But he must know everything. And although I've never said it, you have my sympathies."

"Your what?!" Bard turned to Thranduil, "Thranduil; what is he talking about?"

"I am sorry. I cannot speak of this…please." Thranduil ducked his head, and covered his eyes.

Gandalf looked upon Thranduil with compassion. "Perhaps we could have a witness tell the story?"

Thranduil gave Gandalf a long, intense stare, then silently acceded to the request.

"Bard, would you please ask the guard to send for Galion?" Gandalf said, quietly.

A few minutes later, Galion arrived. The Wizard urged the Aide to a seat, and gave him a drink. He also refilled Thranduil's, and kept the bottle close.

The Elvenking stared down at his lap, unable to speak.

"Galion, I have been granted permission by your King, to request you speak of the events during the War of the Last Alliance, and of what your King sacrificed, in order to save your Army, and the Woodland Realm."

The Chief Aide, looked to his King anxiously, as Thranduil closed his eyes, and gave him the smallest of nods.

"My Lord, are you sure?"

"Yes." Said the Elvenking in a whisper.

After taking a deep breath, Galion recounted the events and details of the Dragon attack on their army. How Thranduil ran up ahead of them, his high, high leap and tucked somersault before he plunged his swords into the belly of the beast, eviscerating it.

He told them how Feren tried to stop him, once he knew what his King had planned, willing to go in his place, and how it took four other Elves to thwart him. Galion also told them what Feren never knew: Thranduil had ordered those men beforehand to grab his Commander and stop him, even if it meant their lives. Galion spoke with a clear and even voice, never wavering, but tears were on his face.

Bard sat still, looking intently at Thranduil, his eyes not leaving his face as his Chief Aide told him of the bravest, most unselfish act he had ever heard of. His throat became tight and painful, and his eyes were stinging. He knew the Elvenking was practically untouchable in battle, and what he saw of him in combat was astonishing, but this…

"I had no idea." He said, in amazement. "That's why they call you the Greatest Warrior on Middle Earth."

Thranduil looked at him for a moment, then lowered his gaze.

"There's something else, isn't there?" Galion, wouldn't meet his eyes, and Gandalf was giving Thranduil a sympathetic look.

"Thranduil? Did something happen? What is it?"

"My Lord? Shall I go on? Or would you prefer to continue?"

"Please, Galion; I need you finish. I don't remember a much of it, in any case. But Mithrandir is correct: if Bard is to be…" Thranduil sighed and resolved himself. "Bard deserves to know all of it."

Gandalf seemed pleased, and gave the Elvenking an encouraging smile, saying, "Please go on, Galion."

"My Lord Bard, as you know, Dragonfire is especially dangerous, and we were fortunate to have Elrond Peredhil with the Alliance, because he is the greatest Healer in Middle Earth. No one else could have saved my King, when he killed the Dragon.

"Elrond? The books you gave Sigrid were written by him, right?"

Thranduil nodded.

Bard thought for a moment. Then he remembered something he had seen with Smaug: how his belly would glow, just before... "Oh, shit... the dragon was about to strike when you killed it, wasn't it?"

"Yes, My Lord." Galion said.

"And you were right underneath it when you sliced into... What happened?" He knew Galion would answer, but he couldn't take his eyes off the Thranduil's face.

"He was hit directly by the fire. Luckily, my King stabbed him before its heat had a real chance to build. Even so, he was very badly burned, and was unrecognizable."

"But you told us, at dinner, your Mithril armor was impenetrable."

"It is, My Lord. It remained unharmed, which added to the list of Mithril's virtues after that day. This gift from his father, protected him and his organs enough to save his life. Elrond used all his powers, to heal him, but it took a very long time." Galion described the months he spent in his healing sleep, and the care, which Elrond and Galion provided, and the devotion of his fighters to protect and keep their King, their savior, safe.

Bard's throat tightened, and his breath caught, as he swallowed. This could have happened to him, or worse, Bain! He couldn't begin to think what it was like to be so…he couldn't form the words in his mind. Thranduil was still looking away, his eyes tightly closed.

"I'm so sorry." Bard's voice rasped. "I don't know what to say." He then turned to Galion and thanked him, but the Aide still looked miserable.

"What else, Galion? Tell me."

"Elrond was able to heal Lord Thranduil's burns completely, but there is not a cure to be found that can heal the wounds from Dragon's blood." This time, the Aide's voice did tremble and break.

"I don't understand…" Bard put his hand to his mouth.

Gandalf told the Elvenking, gently, "My friend, I am sorry, but he has a right to know. You must show him."

Thranduil looked at the Galion, terrified.

"My King, you must trust Lord Bard."

Thranduil looked at Bard, trying to keep his composure. The Elf was afraid. Of what?

"Thranduil, I promise you. I promise you, no matter what it is, it will not change my feelings for you."

It was the first time Bard acknowledged what he felt in front of others, but he could think of no better time to tell this Elvenking what was in his heart.

"Please." He told the Elvenking, gently. "It will be all right. I'm not going anywhere."

Thranduil, still apprehensive, closed his eyes in intense concentration. One side of his face started to change colors and shape, and soon, Bard was looking at the true face of the Woodland King, who was looking back at him out of his good eye, begging him, silently, not to turn away in disgust, not to reject him.

That was something Bard would never, ever, do.

He spoke to the Elf in a soft voice, wanting to reassure him. "It's all right, Thranduil; I understand. There's nothing anyone can do, then?" Galion shook his head. "Does that still cause you pain? It looks agonizing." This time, he wanted an answer from the Elf himself, insisting he give it.

"Yes."

"Does this pain stay with you all the time? Or does…this cover… I don't know what you call it…"

"It's called a 'glamour,' My Lord. Elrond trained Thranduil in this skill, as a part of his recovery." Galion said. "It keeps the wound protected from the elements and it dulls the pain. It hardly hurts when it is up."

"Then, I'd like you to please put it back. I don't care how you look, but I don't like the idea of you suffering, all right?" he waited while Thranduil's face returned to normal, and he could see the relief it in.

Valar, that must be agonizing…

Bard got up, walked around Gandalf to where Thranduil was sitting, held his face, and smiled.

He looked into the sea of those blue-grey eyes, "Remember when I told you all the things I saw in you that were beautiful? They're still there, aren't they? They haven't changed and neither have you. You aren't beautiful because of what you look like, Thranduil. You're beautiful, because I love you."

And with that, right in front of the Wizard, and the Aide - who were both grinning from ear to ear - Bard, King of Dale, Dragonslayer, kissed Thranduil, King of the Woodland Realm, who also happened to be a Dragonslayer.

Thranduil and Bard were still reveling in their kiss, looking at each other, and forgetting they weren't the only ones in the room.

"I'm happy for you both, my friends; you have my heartiest congratulations!" Gandalf clasped his hands together and grinned.

Thranduil, with his forehead resting against his Bowman's, eyes closed, said, "Thank you, Mithrandir."

Bard smirked, eyes still on his Elf, said, "Is Gandalf still here?"

"If we could get back to the reason for my visit, I believe I can add quite a bit of insight as to what brought you two together. You will be pleased to know you've had some help."

"Help? Bard said.

"Help?" Thranduil asked.

"Thranduil, I'm sure you're especially curious as to how this could even have come to pass." Gandalf turned to Galion, and thanked him, and the Chief Aide left the tent.

"You are correct; this was not supposed to happen."

Bard gave Thranduil a look. "Thanks a lot."

"I am sorry; I did not mean it like that. If you knew what is normal for Elves, you would understand, and Mithrandir seems to have an explanation why." Thranduil kissed Bard again, and motioned for him to sit down.

Bard moved his chair closer his Elf, and took his hand. Together, they looked at the Wizard, expectantly.

"I don't understand. Why would Thranduil think this was unusual? People who are widowed go on to other marriages all the time, where I come from. Is it because we're both men?"

"No, not at all. In fact, Thranduil would be the first one to tell you, this type of thing is not an issue amongst Elves. And, as to your earlier apprehensions about this kind of thing between Kings, Bard, I don't foresee any problems."

"How did you…" Bard was shocked Gandalf knew all this. He turned to Thranduil. "Well, we're both Kings, and I had to consider how this would affect my people. Your people, too. I thought about a lot of things. Then, I… had to see you..." He smiled at the Elf. "But how did you know all this, Gandalf?"

"The same way I knew you were coming here."

"But…"

Gandalf smiled. "I am a Wizard, after all."

"That's right. Sorry. I don't have a large frame of reference for this type of thing."

Gandalf laughed. "I forgive you. Now, back to what we need to discuss: We've established that your genders, or a relationship with another King, will not be an issue. Any ridiculous prejudice you might come up against, will not be something you can't easily handle. So, don't let it stop you. You might be comforted to know Thranduil, here, has also been weighing every side of this issue. It does you both credit, to put your concerns of your people first, but you needn't worry. In fact, I have been sent to address the concerns you both have but first, we need to talk about the difference inherent to both of your races. Bard, I don't think you are familiar with Elven mating practices, am I correct?"

Bard nodded. "I know nothing about it. I assumed two Elves meet, fall in love and marry, just like we do."

"In this way, your races are alike. But there are some things unique to Elves, and it's not necessarily a matter of culture between the types of Elves on Middle Earth, either. You see, Elves almost never fall in love twice. Their marital traditions are not based on choice, but what happens physically when they marry."

Bard raised his eyebrows and looked between Gandalf and Thranduil, eyes wide in alarm.

"You mean Elves don't… You don't…" Oh,Bloody fuck! His face fell, and he put his head in his hand in disappointment. He had been really looking forward to...

Despite his best efforts not to, Thranduil laughed. "Bard, you need not worry. Elves are quite proficient at this type of thing."

Bard sat back in his chair, examining the Thranduil's face. "Are you sure you mean the same thing I mean?"

"Oh, yes. I believe you will be very satisfied."

Bard let out the breath he was holding. "Thank the stars… For a minute there, I thought you didn't..."

Gandalf cleared his throat. "Could you two discuss this later, when I'm no longer in the room?"

Bard ignored him, needing to be sure. "So, what is this huge difference, if it isn't… that?" Bard normally would be reticent about discussing sex with a Wizard, but when you haven't had any for seven long years…

"Thranduil, explain to Bard how love and marriage affects an Elven couple? I think he might understand better, don't you think?"

"It might, and it might not, Mithrandir, but you are correct. He must know." Thranduil looked at Bard and took a deep breath. "When an Elf falls in love, it is almost always only once, if they do at all. They cannot fall in love more than once. The reason for this is, when an Elf physically joins with another Elf, their spirits -their fëas, as we call them - also physically join to be as one, and this bond is permanent. Elves do marry, as you know, but we consider the act of consummation itself to be the actual marriage, not the ceremony. Some Elves do not bother with a celebration, others have a feast, before the marriage takes place."

Bard wanted to be absolutely sure. "So...Elves do, 'do it?'"

Thranduil smiled, "Yes, we do," Thranduil grinned. "Extremely well, if I may say so."

Bard thought about it some more. "Well, that bond would take care of the problem of a wife or husband getting caught cheating. It sounds like a better way to go about it, if you ask me."

"I can see why you would think this. And in many ways, it is better, but there is also a price." Thranduil smiled sadly. "This bond is almost never broken. It is particularly tragic when an Elf is killed; their fëas are still joined with their spouse, and the...emptiness is agonizing, and cannot be filled. Often, when an Elf's mate dies, the grief causes the one left behind to fade. This is why I am protective of the lives of my people. When I lose one in battle, I could lose a husband or wife at home. They may either fade, or sail to the Undying Lands to heal their grief. When my own father was killed in the War, my mother did her best to stay until I returned to the Woodland Realm, but soon after, she had to leave; she had little choice."

Bard was staring down at his drink, trying to digest this information. Then he asked, "Your wife…how did you not fade, yourself, after she died? You've never said what happened to her. In fact, I don't even know her name."

"This is because I have not spoken it for almost a thousand years - until earlier this evening." Thranduil swallowed. "I promised her, if something were to ever happen, I would do my best not to, for our son's sake, and for my Kingdom's sake. I remained on Middle Earth, but it was…unspeakably difficult."

"I don't understand; what are you telling me?" Bard looked at the Elf with increasing alarm. Thranduil was telling him he couldn't possibly be in love with him, if he still was "joined" with his wife! He felt foolish, embarrassed, and heartbroken. "Thranduil, if you are…I mean, if you're still 'attached' to your wife, you can't love, me, too! Look, I love you, but I need to be in this all the way, and if you can't feel the same…"

Bard let go of Thranduil's hand, before he could stop him. "I'm sorry, but I can't do this if I know you're still…with her. I still love my wife, and I always will, but if you're still 'joined' with yours like this, I don't think I can do this." Thranduil reached for his hand again, but he pulled it back, upset and hurt. "No! I'm sorry, but I just can't!"

Gandalf put his hand on Bard's arm, and said, "Peace, Bard. Please, calm yourself. I understand your fear, but I think, if you really look at Thranduil, you'll find he feels the same way about you. He does, doesn't he? Look at him, please!"

Bard slowly calmed down, and Thranduil took his hand, held its palm to his lips and kissed it. "Gi melin, Bard. Annon veleth nîn anden."

Moved, Bard asked, "What does that mean?"

Gandalf smiled. "It means you don't have to worry about how Thranduil feels about you." Then he cleared his throat. "As I said, the reason I sought you both out, is that I have been authorized to tell you, the Valar has rewarded each of you for ridding Middle Earth of a creature of Morgoth. Thranduil, the reason you have been able to fall in love with Bard, is because your bond with Mírelen has been severed, with her blessing. In fact, she petitioned the Valar for this, herself."

The Elvenking stared at him, not believing his words. "She did this? I thought she was still waiting in the Mandos' Halls! You mean, she's in Valinor now?"

"Apparently so. She didn't want you to be alone, and, as soon as she was able, she demanded you be freed, so you could love again. She reminded them how you slayed the Dragon at the Gates of Mordor, and that you were entitled to special dispensation."

Thranduil sat for a few minutes, allowing this news to sink in, and become real. To hear of Mirelen, to even think of her as more than an abstract memory, was disconcerting. She seemed more real in this moment, as she was before she died. In a way, it was losing her all over again, and he needed several moments to come to terms with it. He closed his eyes, recalling his beautiful, loving wife, and couldn't help his bittersweet sigh.

"My friend, she wants this for you, please believe me. This is her gift to you." Gandalf assured him.

He heard the Wizard's words, his throat clenching, eyes stinging. It didn't surprise him that she would pound at the door of Manwë's Palace, if she needed to, to help him. His vision swam with tears as smiled at the memory of her passion and stubbornness. "Yes, Mithrandir, I believe you. It is exactly something she would do, would she not?" He laughed a little. "She was headstrong and determined, when she wanted something. I loved this about her."

"So did I. Her love for you is how I came to be here. She could hardly bear to learn of your years of loneliness and suffering, and demanded that you be granted a chance at happiness. You are too important to Middle Earth to spent all your days bereft, like you've been. Would you not want the same for her?"

It was a precious gift she had given to him, and it had nothing to do with Bard, or anyone else. Even if he remained alone in his life on Middle Earth, to just think of her without it piercing his heart, was the biggest blessing he could have hoped for. She'd arranged it so he didn't need to run from her memory.

But she'd done so much more. She was making it so he could have new ones. Mírelen, Meleth nîn... Ant gîn vîr vin faer nîn… Thranduil held his fingers to his lips, with a smile. His vision swam, as his eyes filled, with happiness, how many years had it been since he had cried with joy?

Bard reached over and poured him some more wine, and encouraged him to drink it. He drank the entire cup, and held it out to him for more.

"I wish I could've met Mírelen." Bard said. "She sounds wonderful."

"She was. She is." Thranduil smiled through his tears. "But it is all right. We had a wonderful life together, and I will tell you more about her someday. I would like to know more about your Matilda, as well." He kissed the palm of Bard's hand. "Today, however, belongs to you and me."

Gandalf cleared his throat again, and said, "Thranduil, it might surprise you to know that Bard has had word from his wife as well."

Thranduil looked quickly to Bard, who went pale.

"You did, didn't you?" The Wizard coaxed Bard, who nodded slowly. "Just as Thranduil was awarded the gift from his wife, yours was permitted to give you one as well. I don't mind telling you, that was impressive! Permission for this had to have come from Eru himself."

The Elvenking gasped, still looking at Bard, and squeezed his hand. "Can you tell me what she said?" he asked gently.

"I will, but not right now. It's too…"

"I think Bard will need a little more time. Suffice it to say, my friend, she has given her blessing as well, hasn't she?"

Bard nodded. "She did. I thought I was imagining it at first, but... It was her, I swear it was my Mattie. I couldn't believe it. I'm not sure I believe it even now. It was just so…"

Gandalf spoke gently, "Let me assure you Bard, this genuinely occurred and it is an honor known to no one else. You have truly been blessed."

The idea that Eru Ilúvatar himself had intervened, astounded both Bard and Thranduil.

"Now, this brings me to the most important part of my visit, if you will, and I want you both to think carefully of what this reward is, and how you two choose to use it. I think we've established you two are in love with each other, am I correct?

Looking at each other, they smiled and said they were.

"Wonderful! Now it is time to educate Bard on the consequences of an Elf-Mortal pairing. This can get a bit complicated, so don't be alarmed at what you hear," the Wizard reminded him.

"King Elu Thingol, and his wife, Melian, who was a Maia, same as myself, had a daughter called Luthien. She married a human named Beren and became Mortal. Their actual story is much more complicated, but that's the gist of it."

"So, Luthien gave up her Immortal life?" Bard was dismayed. "Is that the only way?"

Gandalf was eager to reassure them both. "I'm not quite finished. Normally, we believe that when an Elf joins with a Mortal, he or she becomes Mortal as well, but there are exceptions. When Idril wed Tuor Eladar, who was human, she remained an Elf, and the Ban of the Valar was lifted for Tuor, and they sailed to Valinor. They are living quite happily there together. In fact, I visited them rather often, before I was sent here. To date, Tuor has been the only Man granted permission to do this. Until now."

The Wizard gestured to them both. "If you would be so kind as to stand before me… Yes, yes…that will do nicely."

Gandalf then stood up, and turned to face them, looking at them both intensely. He seemed to change before them; he was taller, brighter, and there shone from him a countenance that belied his normal features as an elderly man in rags. He then spoke with a clear voice, that sounded like Gandalf, but more, somehow:

"Thranduil, son of Oropher, and Bard, son of Brand, you both have been granted the choice of when, where and how you are to meet your final fates when your lives are finished here on Middle Earth. If you choose to join with each other, your spirits will be joined as well, and, should you both choose the Mortal life, then you shall be together, after your deaths, with the race of Men. If you choose Immortality, then you may go to Valinor together to live in the Undying Lands. This is the gift Eru Ilúvatar and the Valar have given you. They see the love that has grown between you, and, as slayers of Morgoth's fell creatures, with their blessing and the blessing of your late wives, grant this choice to you."

As Gandalf finished stating the Valar's decree, Bard, Son of Brand, Heir of Girion, King of Dale, and Dragonslayer…

…fainted dead away.

 **ELVISH TRANSLATIONS:**

 _Gi melin, Bard._ – I love you, Bard.

 _Annon veleth nîn anden_ – I give you my heart.

 _Mírelen, Meleth nîn._.. _Ant gîn vîr vin faer nîn_ … - Mírelen, My love… I shall treasure your gift in my heart…

 **NOTES:**

\- Thanks again to this website for help with Sindarin: /phrasebooks/sindarin/doriath/


	14. Chapter 14

**Ruins of Dale; 3rd of December, 2941 T.A.**

"Bard!" Thranduil cried, as the Bowman collapsed. The Elf grabbed him just before he hit the ground. "Help me, Mithrandir, quickly!"

But Wizard already had hold on Bard's legs. "Let's take him in to your bedchamber." They turned Bard around, and Thranduil backed up, with Gandalf holding his feet, and they laid him on the bed.

"He's just passed out, Thranduil. What we need to do is get his boots off and hand me that those pillows."

Thranduil quickly the other pillows to the Wizard. "What do we do now?" Thranduil sat beside his Bowman, took his hand and nervously massaged it. "The race of Men so fragile…"

He felt a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "We wait. In a minute or two, and he will come around."

As promised, Bard stirred, but his face remained pale. Thranduil stroked the Bowman's brow, and moaned and opened his eyes, and Thranduil heaved a sigh of relief.

"What happened?" Bard asked weakly. "I fainted, didn't I?"

Thranduil stroked his face. "Yes, I am afraid you did, and you nearly you broke your skull on the furniture. You gave me quite a fright." He picked up the pitcher on his bedside table and poured a glass of water. "Are ready to sit up? This might make you feel a bit better."

"Why don't we find out?" Bard used Thranduil's arm for leverage and slowly rose to a sitting position. He to stop for a moment to get his bearings, but soon was upright with his back against the headboard, sipping the water. "Sorry about all that."

"Not to worry, Bard." Gandalf reassured him. "You've had a bit of a shock. In fact, you've had a great many of them recently. I'm surprised you haven't collapsed sooner, if I'm to be honest. Your life has been turned upside down in a matter of weeks, don't you agree?"

"It isn't all bad, but it's still...a lot to take in."

"Well, there you are." The Wizard spread his hands. "Don't be hard on yourself; there aren't many Men who could withstand all that's been thrust upon your shoulders. Still, the Valar would never consider taking the time and effort for someone they did not deem worthy. You will be quite all right, I assure you."

"It's just that all this…changes _everything_ , and I have my children to think about. I don't know what to do…"

It wasn't unreasonable for Bard to hesitate: he has a brand-new kingdom, and young family, which had to come first. Thranduil understood that more than anyone, and icy fingers of fear grabbed at his heart. If Bard rejected this offer, he'd have no choice to to accept it. The decision had to be made freely.

Thranduil's stomach fluttered with apprehension and he turned away from Bard's gaze. What if it was too much, and Bard didn't want it at all?

A warm hand was on his arm, with a reassuring squeeze. He turned his head and searched those warm, hazel eyes. "No love; it's not like that. I _want_ to be with you, Thranduil. This," he gestured between them, "this might have happened fast, but I know in my bones it's right, and it's real. We belong together."

Bard made to get up, and was quickly stopped by Thranduil. "Please, rest some more, Meleth nîn."

"But I need to work all this out, now; don't you?"

"I do, _Meleth nîn."_ Turning to the Wizard, he asked, "May we continue this discussion, Mithrandir?"

"Of course. But stay here, I'll get myself a chair. I don't want Bard to get up yet."

"That is a good idea," Thranduil kissed Bard's forehead. "I will get a chair, and bring in some drinks."

"Just make sure you keep the wine pouring, will you?"

Once they were settled in the chairs beside the bed, and had their cups full, Bard wanted to go over everything. "So, the powers that be, and I do mean that literally, not to mention a major miracle involving my late wife, and his late wife, have conspired so that Thranduil and I could be together, for eternity?"

"That is true."

"And, we have two choices: The first is, I choose the Immortal life, and we either live forever on Middle Earth, or sail for Valinor, and spend our days there. The second choice would be, Thranduil chooses the Mortal life, and we both die, and go to the same place where Men go, together? Have I got this right?"

"That's exactly right. The important word is 'together.' You must make this choice together, and it must be made before you wed. And by "wed," I mean-"

"Do the 'Elf Thing.'" Bard finished.

"I beg your pardon?" Thranduil's eyebrows shot up. _"'The Elf Thing?'"_

"Aye." Bard shrugged. "When your souls do that thingie when you marry."

Thranduil smirked and leaned toward him and whispered, "Bard, believe me when I tell you, you will like the 'Elf thing' very, very much."

Bard smirked back at him. "Well, I'm relieved to know Elves have sex like we do. You scared the shit out of me, when you started talking about your different mating practices..."

Gandalf nearly choked on the wine he was drinking.

"Oh, _Meleth,_ assure you; we do have sex, and Elves are quite limber and creative…" he kissed his Bowman tenderly.

"Please," Gandalf squirmed. "Could we get back to…"

"The Wizard's right." Bard held his gaze. "We'll deal the 'Elf Thing' later."

"I am looking forward to it." Thranduil leered at his Bowman. "More than you could possibly imagine."

"Are you two finished?" Gandalf rolled his eyes.

After exchanging another sultry glance, the Kings sheepishly returned their attention toward the Wizard.

"Now, as I said, you must decide before you… join," Gandalf quickly put both his hands up, "and, don't elaborate..."

Bard squeezed his hand. "All I know right now is, I want to be with you. Maybe this is happening fast because the Valar's wants us to start our new life as soon as possible."

Thranduil's heart swell with happiness. "I believe that is true. I love you, and I do not want to wait any longer than I must." Saying the words out loud sent a thrill through him.

"So," Bard turned to Gandalf, "the only thing left to decide is: where do we end up, and how long would us take to get there?"

"Yes…"

"But that's not my only question. If I choose to be Immortal, what will happen to me? Will I end up looking like an Elf?"

"No." Gandalf laughed. "But you'll stop aging, and be impervious to disease, like an Elf. If Thranduil chooses the Mortal path, he will age, be susceptible to illness, and pass on within the same length of time as you."

Bard stared off into space for a few moments to consider. Thranduil allowed him this time; this was too important a decision to be rushed.

At length, the Bowman pursed his lips. "I was only expecting about thirty to forty years more in this life, and so is my Kingdom. If you were to take my path, Thranduil, who'd take care your Realm, your people? They'll need you a lot longer than mine ever would. And I have an heir who will take over the job. You, at this point, don't."

"This is true, Meleth nîn," Thranduil sighed, "but have you considered what it will be like, to outlive all of your children? And their children? You will have a heavy price to pay, as well, so consider carefully."

"You're right. But, they'll join their mother, and that means more... " Bard's voice became hoarse. "...it means the world to me. They won't be alone, and neither will Mattie. She's real to me now, in a good way, and when my children pass on, she'll have the time she was robbed of, when she died.

"I wasn't sure until tonight, when she told me herself that she wanted this for me. It's one thing to imagine such things, but to see Mattie own eyes…" Bard's eyebrows drew together. "Do you believe they would be all right?"

"Yes, Bard, I do." The Wizard's tone was sure.

"What about Bain? You said you would speak of what is to become of Bain, because he is also a Dragonslayer."

"I did. Bain will also receive a gift from the Valar, but not yet. It's not his time, Bard. These gifts are given based on the lives of the recipients, and their own desires. The Elf Glorfindel, who currently resides in Rivendell, also killed a creature of Morgoth, but his gift wasn't the same. He died killing a Balrog, something as evil and frightening as Smaug was. I don't wish to speak of it any further, except to tell you, Glorfindel was granted a new life, and returned from Valinor, after he left the Halls of Mandos. It was what he desired.

"Bain is too young to understand what he might want, so I want you both to promise me you will speak nothing of this to him. He must be able to live his life without this idea of a reward. It cannot be a factor in who and what he decides to be, do you understand? I will be the one to approach him when the Valar believes the time is right. You must agree to this, for his sake. I wouldn't have mentioned it all, had you not broached the subject yourself. Do you agree to this?"

"Absolutely." Bard agreed with Gandalf's reasoning.

"And I promise as well." The Elvenking said.

"So, how do we explain to the children when I don't age? Or my people?"

"An excellent question, Bard." The Wizard pondered. "Your children should be told something when you deem the time to be right, but simply tell them that by marrying Thranduil, you inherited his fate, and nothing more."

"I won't lie to them, Gandalf."

"No, and you shouldn't, Bard, but you don't need burden them with all the details right now. I advise the same for your people, leave things as they are for a few years. Give everyone a chance to get settled and let them see how devoted you are."

"That's a good plan." Bard nodded. "What do you think, Thranduil?"

"I do not like the idea of watching you grieve over your children. But you are correct: my duties to my Kingdom far outlive your natural years. There is something else you need to be aware of, Bard."

"What's that?"

Thranduil turned to Gandalf. "It might be wise to tell him now, Mithrandir."

"I agree. It must be a factor in your decision."

"What is it?"

"When the White Council went to Dol Guldur last month, we discovered the true identity of the Necromancer. He was the One who sent the Orcs to attack Erebor and Dale. The Lady Galadriel banished him, at great cost to herself, and he has returned to Mordor, where he once was."

The mention of this made Thranduil's stomach churn, and Bard went white. "Oh, Valar… You don't mean…"

Gandalf sighed. "I'm afraid it's true. Sauron himself resided there. It was he who poisoned Thranduil's lands and wants the Northern Kingdoms to fail."

"But wasn't he destroyed in the War?" Bard gasped. "That can't be right!"

Thranduil said, "I am afraid there's more, Meleth nîn. I told you I have the gift of foresight, as well as Gandalf, and we believe that sometime in the future, he will return. It will be the War that will decide whether Middle Earth will give in to evil until the end of time, or Sauron will be vanquished for good, and Middle Earth will be in peace. We do not believe this will happen in your natural lifetime; it could be hundreds of years from now, or during Bain's or his son's reign as King. We simply do not know. This is why the Northern Kingdoms must become united as allies and will need as much time as possible to become strong and stable."

"And you need to be there to protect your Kingdom and fight this war. If you aren't the Woodland Realm will be destroyed."

"Yes. My people might perish, regardless, but I do not wish to take that chance. My son is gone, and there is no one else to lead my people." The words said out loud stung.

Bard took his hand and squeezed it, offering him comfort. "He's gone for now, but things might change, love."

The King of Dale continued. "I was leaning towards a life with you in Valinor, and this settles it. If all this is true, then I want to help. Those will be my descendants in Dale, and they will always be my people. They will need all the help they can get. That's more important than anything, Thranduil. If we deliberately turn our backs on what is to come, we'd never forgive ourselves, would we? I couldn't."

"Do you need some time to think this through? Please Bard, you must consider all aspects of this, and choose freely."

Bard grasped his chin, curling his fingers over his mouth, as he pondered this. "I won't deny Bain his birthright. When the time comes for him to take the Throne of Dale, I'll come to your Kingdom to live. When or how to tell my people isn't something we have to decide now."

Gandalf considered this. "I agree. If you do this, Bard, I urge caution; there's no way to predict how this will change you, besides Immortality. Your abilities might be different, so be careful to whom you confide."

Bard turned to him. "Thranduil? What do you think?"

"I would love nothing more than to have you live in with me in my Halls." His heart leaped at the vision of waking up with Bard every morning, and getting into bed with him at night… ""It is a good solution for now; we have years to work out the details."

"Gandalf?" Bard looked to the Wizard.

"That's a perfect solution." Gandalf said, impressed. "Bain deserves to be a King. This is his destiny, and it should not be altered, when the time comes." Gandalf

"This will be even better; if Bain needs some guidance, I'll be there to help."

"That is wise, Meleth nîn." Thranduil assured him. "We will help him, and all his descendants."

Bard bit his lip. "Gandalf, you said that I won't look like an Elf, and I won't fall ill like a man would. What about Elven quickness and strength. Will that increase?"

"I have no idea," Gandalf answered, "We'll have to wait and see."

"I can live with that. Could I be killed?"

"Yes, Bard."

"I hate the idea of Thranduil going through what he did when his wife died. If he loves me, and we are joined, he'd face the same heartache." Bard leaned closer, as if to protect him.

"It's too late to avoid that," Gandalf shook his head. "One of you could die this very night, leaving the other to mourn, Bard. That is the risk anyone in love must live with."

Thranduil searched Bard's eyes, who return the gaze with equal intensity. Gandalf was right; heart was already lost to this Man, and the chance to avoid grief had passed.

"Thranduil, you know what you want, right?"

"I do, Meleth nîn. I hope that is what you want, too."

"Gandalf, I choose an Immortal life with Thranduil, and the same fate as the Elves."

Gandalf clasped his hands together. "Congratulations! Now, when is your wedding? I would honored to officiate, at the ceremony, if you have one."

Both Bard and Thranduil suddenly deflated, as reality slapped them both in the face.

Thranduil's shoulders drooped. "I would be expected to speak with my Council first. They would insist on a voice, with regards to who I choose as Consort of the Realm, as well as demand a long betrothal period." He groaned. "There would be endless arguments, and interference..."

Thranduil cringed at the thought of it. With Mírelen, they had all the splendor of a traditional Elven courtship and a beautiful wedding. He didn't regret those at all. But with Bard, it was different. It was private, personal, and he wanted to keep it that way.

Bard considered Thranduil's words. "Dale is still new, and everything about this place is still being established, so I'm not worried about them accepting a relationship with Thranduil. I'm not sure what to do as far as myself, though. I don't want a betrothal at all. If we did that, it would probably cause the same problem, only in my case they would want to "help." They'd mean well, but it would cause more of a hullabaloo than I'd want." Bard squeezed his hand. "Our people have so much of us, I want this to be about you, me, and our family."

Thranduil was greatly relieved. Bard hated the idea of pomp and ceremony as well. However, the next thought he had was already being voiced.

"We need to consider how this affects my children. I don't want to wait long, love, but they'll need some time to adjust." Bard's eyes were apologetic. "I'm sorry, but they have to come first, right now; they've been through too much."

Thranduil brought his face close and kissed him with a proud smile. "You are showing your quality as an excellent father."

" _Would_ they reject Thranduil?" Gandalf asked.

"I doubt it, but they'd be hurt if they weren't a part of all this."

"What would be their reasons if they wanted to prevent it?" Thranduil was worried.

"Mostly, they'd be afraid of losing me, of being shoved aside."

"And would they lose you?" asked Gandalf.

"Absolutely not!"

"I have no desire to come between you and them," Thranduil's voice was hopeful, "We will work to convince them of this."

"It's just that they don't know you that well. So far, they love the Elves, and the dinner earlier, went great." Bard squeezed their intertwined fingers, with confidence. "We'll show them that they aren't losing their Da—they're getting another one," he winked, "not to mention the run of an whole Elven Palace!"

Gandalf rose from his chair. "I'm afraid I have pressing business elsewhere at the moment, so I'll leave the two of you to work out the details." His face was soft, and full of kindness. "It isn't often the Valar asks me to carry out such a delightful task. I'm happy for you both." He walked over to the entrance of the bedchamber, winked at them and bid them good night.

This left the Elf and the Bowman alone, for the first time, as an official couple.

Thranduil's eyes lit up with joy.

Bard searched his Elf's blue/grey eyes, and his insides vibrated with sheer happiness.

His Elf!

Bard was in love with Thranduil, King of Elves, and by some miracle, this ethereal, stunning being loved him right back. His limbs felt lighter, and warmth radiated through his chest.

"I love you so much." Woefully inadequate words but the best he could come up with.

"And I you, Bard of Dale. You bring me joy." Thranduil kissed the sensitive inside of Bard's wrist, and met his gaze, eyes shining.

"Come here," were the second-best words. He opened his arms out, and Thranduil left his chair, and sat on the bed, embracing him. The two of them held each other for a long time, breathing in each other's scent and stroking each other's hair. This was so warm, so beautiful, so perfect.

"As much as we love our children, I want to remain like this forever, and be content. I love you, so much, Bard." Thranduil turned his face down and hid it in the crook of his neck and swallowed several times.

Bard kissed Thranduil's hair and stroked his head., "This is wonderful."

Thranduil took his hand and entwined their fingers, leaning his head next to his, smiling.

"I like the idea of spending eternity with you."

"I still cannot believe it." Then Thranduil became serious. "I want you to know something."

"Oh? What's that?"

Thranduil rested his hand against Bard's cheek. "Bard, I love you, and I would still want to be with you, even if you were to stay Mortal, and I would not. I would want you, even though you would have to leave me forever after only a short time. I will always want to be with you."

Bard's put his hand on Thranduil's wrist and leaned into the hand on his cheek. "You would love me that much?"

"Meleth nîn, I already do." Thranduil whispered. "I will always love you, and no matter how long that might be, I will not look back and regret it. Do you believe me?"

"Yes. I do." Bard leaned in and kissed this divine being, softly at first, then more urgently, as their hands explored one another. His mouth opened, and his spirit took flight, as Thranduil's tongue touched his, and plundered his mouth. He was becoming lost in the sensation, and it sent him spinning. Stars above, he loved this. He wanted this; he wanted all of this Elf. All of him. Now. He pulled Thranduil in harder and moaned as their kiss intensified. So good...

He could have him right now, and it would be glorious, wouldn't it?

But now wasn't the right time. He wanted more than sex with Thranduil. He wanted a life with him. A happy life with him and their children. That was more important right now, wasn't it?

Yes, it was...

He reluctantly stopped, and put some space between them, breathing heavily. In silent agreement, Thranduil nodded.

"You have no idea how hard that was," Bard groaned.

"I _feel_ how hard it is." Thranduil smirked, breathing heavily.

Bard chortled. "You have the same problem."

"Happily so. But, the children are too important, you are right to consider them." Thranduil moved to sit beside him.

"Sorry. I just want to do this right."

"I agree. Our children will always be important to us, so if we are to be together, we must help them." Thranduil voice was confident. "Tauriel does not know about this either. She is important to me, and I don't want to hurt her."

"Yes, she does." Bard gave him a reassuring smile. "Your daughter is pretty sharp"

"What did she say?"

"That you deserve to be happy; we both do."

Thranduil blinked several times. "I… am touched. I hardly deserve her good wishes."

"Well you have them. She loves you, Thranduil," Bard nudged his shoulder. "That's what families do: forgive each other. Sigrid suspects, but I think she's pleased."

"What about Bain and Tilda? And Legolas? What do I do about my son?"

Bard gave it a squeeze. "We'll figure out the problem with Legolas. You're not alone anymore, I promise you."

Thranduil's stomach lost its tension at his Bowman's surety, and a glimmer of hope sparked in him.

Bard kissed their joined hands. "It could be years before we hear from him, and I'd rather not wait until we get his consent to marry. Is that all right?" He asked, half-joking.

"I agree. In any case, his life is his own, now. He is not dependent upon me, like your children are." Thranduil sighed, sadly. "I was right to let him go. He travel, and discover things about the world in ways I never could." He sighed. "When I was his age, I was preparing to go to war with my father, then I was King."

"We will find a way. I'll help you, love."

Thranduil leaned his head against him. "Thank you, Meleth nîn. In the meantime, what do you want to do regarding your children?"

"They'll be all right. They don't know you, that's all. All they need is a little time. They love the Elves, and are practically worship Tauriel. They even like Daeron, and Turamarth has been trying to learn Westron, with the children's help. All the children in Dale like the Elves, so that's not any obstacle. The only solution is for you to spend more time with them, until they're more comfortable with you personally, and grow to love you, like I do. Your gifts to them went a long way towards earning their trust."

"I am glad, but I do not wish to buy their affections with gifts. I want their love to be sincere."

"I agree. They shouldn't be showered with presents all the time, but the thought you put into those gifts meant a lot. It showed them that you were taking notice of what would make each one of them happy. That means a lot. It meant a lot to me, too." Bard leaned toward him and captured his mouth for a long moment. "In fact, when I saw Tilda's doll, that's the moment I knew I was in love with you. When I was in my tent, I was thinking about all of it when Mattie…came." He kissed the Elf again, even more thoroughly. "She knows you'll love the children as much as she does."

"That is…. the highest of compliments," Thranduil murmured sincerely. "I will do my best to live up to it."

"You will." He beamed at the Elf. "No doubt about it."

"It will not be difficult; they are enchanting, _Meleth nîn!_ They remind me of you; especially Bain. He is the image of you, and also resembles Girion, when he was that age. Sigrid does not, so I'm guessing she takes after her mother?"

"Yes, that she does. In her looks and her ways. She is Mattie all over again." Bard beamed.

"Tilda does not resemble Bain or Sigrid that much, but she's a beautiful child."

"She takes after my Mam in face and stature same face. She was a tiny woman; we named Sigrid after her. Bain's named for Mattie's Da.

"Was Tilda always shy?"

"No; she's had a hard time, since the Battle, and it breaks my heart." Lines of worry appeared on Bard's brow. "But she's slowly coming back to us." He kissed the Elf's hand. "You've no idea what you've done by returning Charlotte to her. For her and for me. I've no doubt now she'll get better. Before this, I wouldn't say she was shy, she just needs a bit of time to decide if she likes or dislikes anyone. She's curious, but she's cautious, too."

Thranduil chuckled at him, "So, she is like you. You are a man whose trust must be earned. That is an excellent quality in a man, and in a King. This is an excellent quality in anyone, but especially for her."

"Sigrid appears to be a calm, but strong young woman. When my Chief Healer was impressed at the questions she asked and that is not easily done." He grinned at Bard. "I intend that she reaps the benefit of everything the Elves have to offer, in that respect. I would also suggest that you beseech the Dwarves to allow her to learn from them as well. Your kingdom is in the center of the North, and having experience with the race in our Kingdoms, would benefit her."

Bard liked that. "That's a good idea. I'll do that."

"Now, your Bain," Thranduil continued, "has a great interest in military matters, and it is an encouraging sign. A King must strategize, for every possibility but be ready to respond instantly should the need arise. His interest in history will also serve him well."

"He'll be a better King than I'll ever be; that's for sure."

"Why do you say this, _Meleth nîn?"_

"I'm going to be flying by the seat of my pants, aren't I? Bain will have time to study and learn, and be groomed by both of us."

"Much of your efforts in Dale will come to fruition during your son's reign," Thranduil agreed, "but you both have inherited natural abilities from your forefathers; you both will do well."

Bard leaned his head against Thranduil's shoulder. "You're making me fall in love with you even more, you know."

A short laugh. "Perhaps I am. But I would admire these qualities in your children even if you and I weren't friends. But since we are together, I suggest we make opportunities for us to get to become better acquainted. Would you like to dine with me again, tomorrow night?"

"I love that idea. Let's have Tauriel join us. I want her know she's part of the family."

"I do too." Thranduil kissed him again, "I wish I could make love to you now." His lips lightly brushed over Bard's and then they took in his lower lip and sucked on it lightly. Nuzzling their noses together, he kissed him again. "It is right to wait until we can be a true family," he gave a wicked grin, "but surely, Bard, there is something we can do about this terrible want between us, do you not agree?"

Bard nuzzled into Thranduil's neck. "Oh, I'm sure we'll think of something…" He jested, then kissed his Elf, with determination.

Their kisses turned intense, their mouths claiming each other, grasping at each other, as they both slid down on the bed. Thranduil was pulling Bard's tunic up, and lightly running his fingertips over the hard lines of his stomach.

Bard pushed up the hem of the Elf's tunic, on the warmth of Thranduil's skin, and they stayed like this for a few moments, kissing, touching each other's skin, pressing their hips together. Then Thranduil's hands began to wander downward, and when they found what he was looking for Bard moaned loudly.

After seven years, of aching loneliness, he could hardly believe someone else was touching him like this. His heart pounded in his chest, and he buried his face in the crook of the Elf's neck.

"Oh, Thranduil... " he whispered, his eyes closed, swallowing. This was so intimate; so... much more than he'd ever hoped for himself. And it was so, _so good..._

This wasn't fair, it was too one-sided, so before Thranduil knew what had happened, Bard had the Elf's leggings down below his hips and he was given the same ministrations that he was being given.

"You're so beautiful… I love it." Bard he whispered into the Elf's ear.

Thranduil hissed And cried out rapidly in Elvish, as he arched his back, plunging his fingers in to Bard's thick, black hair. He even forgot to touch Bard, he was so lost, so lost.

Bard held Thranduil's hips, as they thrust towards him, and cried out. Oh, Valar, yes… His cock twitch, hard, and he hummed around Thranduil's cock, making the Elvenking shudder.

"A, Ma!" Thranduil whined, "I love your touches, Bard... Put your hands on me... It is so good, Meleth nîn…"

Bard plunged his hands into the Elf's icy-blonde hair, pulled his head towards him, and gave the tip of Thranduil's ear a nip, then sucked on it, flicking his tongue over it in rapid motions. The Elf, screamed out with that incredible baritone voice, his moans and grunts becoming louder and more urgent. The Elf reached his climax, and Bard followed soon after.

They eventually slowed down, and regained their wits, and frantic nature of their touch and kisses became tender and loving, as they came down from their euphoria and became themselves again. To release like that, even without the actual sex, helped to quench a thirst Bard had suffered for a long, long, time. He sank into Thranduil's arms, boneless.

Once his breath returned to normal, Bard kissed Thranduil. "If this is only a taste of what I have to look forward to, I'm the luckiest man on Middle Earth."

"I am the most fortunate Elf alive, Meleth nîn. I love you."

"And I love you." They lay on their sides facing each other, bathed in the inner glow of release, as Bard lost himself in Thranduil's eyes and reveled in a whole new level of closeness.

After a time, Bard frowned, "I hate to say this, but I have to get cleaned up and get back to my children, in a while. I don't want to leave you, but I'm afraid if I stay, I won't be able to stop…"

"I understand. Stay there for a moment." Thranduil kissed him, and got up, pulling his leggings up a bit, leaving them open, and went to the bathing area. He returned with a wet towel and a dry one, and handed them to the Bowman.

"You are so beautiful. I love to look at your body." He said in wonder.

"I'm glad you like it." Bard looked at his Elf's naked body. "You have no hair on you at all?" he asked, curious.

"Elves have no hair except on their heads. It is why I find all of yours so interesting. Does this bother you?"

Bard grinned at him. "I love it. It's like you're brand-new, made just for me."

"I feel brand-new, Meleth nîn. Your love has restored and healed much in me."

Thranduil kissed him tenderly for several moments, and they spent some time, holding each other, needing no words to say what was in their hearts.

After a while, Thranduil reluctantly spoke. "As much as it saddens me to say this, you must get back to your children."

They each straightened out their underclothes, laced up their leggings, and Bard replaced his tunic. After inspecting Bard quickly to make sure he didn't look like he had done what he _had_ , in fact, just done, Thranduil led him by the hand out to the meeting area, where he helped Bard into his coat.

Bard kissed him again. "Good night, love. Get some rest."

"I will try. You as well. If possible, try to sleep in. It is late, and you need the rest." He kissed Bard again.

Bard glanced at the small side table, and spied something that shouldn't be there. "Looks like Gandalf forgot his hat."

"This is unusual, I must tell you. He is not the kind to forget about anything, unless it suits his purposes." Thranduil reached down and picked up the hat, and they both gasped in surprise.

Sitting on the table, underneath where the Wizard's blue, pointy hat had been, were two silver rings.


	15. Chapter 15

**Ruins of Dale; 5th of December, 2941 T.A.**

"I don't understand, Thranduil; you want to _what?"_ Bard's stomach was almost instantly full of knots, at at Thranduil's proposal. He looked around the table at Hilda, Percy and even Galion for support, but the knowing looks on their faces didn't help.

"It is not I, _personally_ , that wishes to, but some of my people have expressed concern for your orphans. My Lady, you found homes for them all?" Thranduil's tone was patient and sympathetic.

"No, we haven't, My Lord, and I don't mind telling you, I'm worried ." Hilda told the Elf. "There are so many kids, though some of the folks showed a willingness to take three of them in, and those were ones who didn't have brothers or sisters. At this point, our folk are too poor to take in an entire brood. Not without houses to put them in, and I don't blame them. And even then," her jaw was set, as she made eye contact with everyone around the table, "I'll only place a child after I make sure he or she will be well-cared for. I've had to turn some folks down, because I had doubts. I won't have a child placed simply because they need someone to help them. If they won't truly love those poor bairns as their own, they're better off staying with all the others. I can't do it to them. And I will not break up a family!"

"Of course you should not; it is cruel to be forced to live in an unhappy, loveless home, and I would never allow such a thing."

Bard dragged his fingers through his hair nervously. "I agree, but what you are proposing is…"

"I am aware you have little reason to believe me." Thranduil's grey eyes met his. "Most of what you have seen of Elves is our military. You have not the chance to witness the families of the Woodland Realm, and how they care for their young. We cherish children; and many of my people have enjoyed visiting them while they are under Mistress Bronwyn's care."

Hilda's lips pursed as she shook her head. "That's been wonderful for the kids, and I'm grateful, My Lord, but visiting them for an hour or two, is nothing like _actual_ _parenting_ , especially children of a different race. I can't just hand them over! I _have_ to be sure they're not only cared for, but they'll be brought up well, too. They're human children, Thranduil. They're not immortal, so these parents have to be sure they're ready to face their eventual death. They have physical limitations, and dietary needs; they grow up differently than an Elven child. If your folk aren't prepared to face all that, I won't let them go." Hilda's chin jutted out stubbornly.

"Of course, you cannot. And you should not." Thranduil's voice was low and soothing. "This topic, however, is a critical part of a bigger problem I foresee for your people, which needs to be addressed before the winter."

Bard's eyebrows furrowed. "What's wrong?"

"I have told you we will have a hard winter, and I will help, but your immediate problem is providing enough dependable shelters, and fuel to heat them! Even with help from the Elves and the Dwarves, there will not be enough time, and Winter is upon us." Thranduil let them all consider this for a moment.

"But we can't leave Dale, Thranduil! What if, while we're gone, the place is overrun? Plus, there's a lot we can do during the winter months. If we get the outside structures passable, we'll work on the indoors on bad days."

"Bard," the Elvenking asked him patiently, "early winter is already upon us. We have only a few weeks before the heavy snows come, along with the freeze. Do you have the means to shelter all your people adequately in such a short amount of time?" Thranduil asked Bard, not without compassion.

Bard cleared his throat, and shifted in his chair. "No. No, we can't."

"There is much to accomplish during those months. Please rest assured my soldiers will be stationed here for as long as you need them. I will be sending supplies when the road is passable. But weather is unpredictable, Bard. Many of simply cannot stay here during the worst of the winter or they may not survive."

When it dawned on Bard what the Elf was proposing, his shoulder's slumped, and hands slid from the table and fell into his lap. The idea plunged his stomach into disarray. Oh, Valar…no…

Thranduil leaned in addressed them in a soft tone, rich with understanding, "I should like to invite your sick, your elderly, all the women and the children to stay in the Woodland Realm during the winter months. I believe it would be safer for them, and I vow they will be well cared for. I recommend the men stay in the camp - those who are able - and use these months to prepare housing for their return in the spring."

The Bowman jumped to his feet, and began to pace nervously. "I…don't know if I can do that, Thranduil. Do you realize what you're asking of me, of all the Men who have already lost so much?"

"Bard," the Elvenking's voice was gentle, "I am sorry to cause you distress. I truly am. But I do not believe the children would do well in the ruins of Dale over the winter, do you? Or the sick, your elderly? What about the women in the camp? Please," Thranduil held out his arm. "Please come and sit down, _Mellon nîn."_

Bard glared at the Elvenking as he took his seat.

"Please, consider what I am offering to your people." The Elf took placed his hands over Bard's clenched fists. "Bard," he murmured, "I want to offer them comfort, warmth and safety. I do not take this separation from your children lightly." He waited patiently, until Bard's fingers relaxed, then squeezed them. "I am not trying to hurt you."

Hilda looked between him and the Elf curiously, as a slow smile of acknowledgement spread across her face. Bless her for her silence, because this was not the time for personal announcements; he was too upset.

This Elf wanted to take his children away! His first instinct was to shout at him, to throttle him. He had never, ever been separated from them! He could protect them, couldn't he?

Bard's jaw clenched, and he couldn't swallow the lump that formed in his throat. No, he couldn't take care of them; not when the bitter cold comes. A tent was no place for a child to be living for months in the cold! What about all the rest of his people? He hadn't considered this at all!

Hilda put her hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, love, but Lord Thranduil is right. I think it's generous of him to want to take us in over the winter, don't you?" She regarded him with understanding. "I know it's hard, but it's the right thing to do, love. Don't blame yourself. You've been doing a wonderful job. And anyway, Percy and I didn't think of it either, did we?"

Bard sighed and he couldn't meet anyone's eyes; they remained focused on the inlaid pattern on the table edge..

Hilda turned to Percy, "What do you think, love?"

"I hate the idea of you going," Percy scratched his chin, "but it will only be for a season. This is the best solution."

"It's only for this winter, yeah? By next summer, we'll be settled, so no one will have to leave." Hilda shrugged. "This will give the sick and the injured a chance to recover, and it will keep the kids healthy and warm. I could also interview the Elves to see about placing the orphans."

"That would be another benefit to my offer." Thranduil agreed. "You would have the time needed to meet prospective foster parents and educate them in what will be required to raise a human child. It may also help the children adjust better, if they are still surrounded by their people for a while."

"It sounds good to me." Hilda's dark eyes met Thranduil's and she patted his forearm. "To tell you the truth, I was worried sick, but now I feel a bit better. My Lord, this is a real blessing to us."

Galion stood and retrieved the pitcher of wine. "Lord Bard, you appear to need a drink."

"I do," Bard held out his cup gratefully.

"Bard?" Thranduil's warm hand enveloped his again, and his brow wrinkled with concern.

"As King, of course, you will want to visit the Palace, to be assured of your people's well-being."

"I do. Even if I'm not there with them, they're all my responsibility. No one is going if it's not suitable." Bard trusted Thranduil completely, but _he_ was not Dale's King. In the end, the responsibility for their welfare was not Thranduil's, it was _his_.

"I agree. I must leave after we are finished meeting with the Dwarves, to attend ceremonies at home, and I will be returning four days later. Would you be willing to leave Percy and Hilda in charge, and attend the ceremonies with me? You will get a thorough tour of my Palace and the Realm so you may make your final decision, and I promise to respect it."

"I'd feel better if I saw things for myself." The tension in Bard's shoulders eased a bit.

"Let us hold off on further details and final decisions until our return, shall we? For now, I would like to ask you to give me an assessment of the supplies you need at this time." Thranduil turned to Percy. "King Bard and I will meet with the Dwarves in two days, and we need to ascertain what building supplies and services you will need, and what to request of the Dwarves. I have asked your King for some names among your people experienced in construction to help schedule the rebuilding, and what supplies are needed."

"And I have provided Thranduil with one." Bard told the couple.. "Old Ben has built or repaired a lot of Laketown, over the years and even though he isn't up to the work itself anymore, we'll find no better to oversee things. What do you think?"

"Aye, you're right there." Percy nodded. "No one could do it better, but I think Ben should choose an assistant himself. He'd know the best person better than you or me. Have you asked him?"

"Not yet, but I was hoping you'd go see him after this meeting. Lists are going to need to be made as soon as possible. Can Ben read and write?"

"I don't know; I've never seen him do it." Percy rubbed the back of his neck, "Begging your pardon, My Lord, but there's not many from Laketown that can. Bard's wife, Mattie worked as teacher in Dorwinian, and did some teaching at Laketown, before the Master shut the schools down."

"I have learned of your former Master's oppression, and this is a mark against his leadership, not your people. Perhaps I could supply you with an Elf who writes in Westron, allowing Ben inspect and talk of what would be required?"

Percy agreed. "Good idea."

"Galion, would you please choose two of our Elves to accompany Percy and Ben?"

"Of course, Sire." Galion left with a bow.

Percy's fingers thrummed on the table, lost in thought, for a moment. "Why don't we just work on the Great Hall? The building's big enough house all the men, and it would save the worry of separate shelters. We could make sure roof is in good repair, and get the doors fixed. It's connected to the Castle, and there are rooms in the back to sleep in, for you, me and the older men. The younger ones could stay in the main part of the building. It's got a big kitchen in it, so that would solve the problem of food there, plus the heat of the stoves and ovens would help warm the Hall. The Elves could bunk there, too."

"Elves do not feel the cold like Men do, but they would enjoy the winter more of they were stationed with you. I will want shelters set up inside the City Wall to house sentries on duty, but the ones rotated out, could remain housed with your men and assist in the building efforts. Is this agreeable, Bard?"

"It would conserve a lot of fuel for heating and cooking. " Bard began to warm slightly to the idea. Plus, it would be good for the men to be around each other, rather than scattered out there in the cold. After the women and children leave, it will be lonely, it would help us get through the winter." He smirked at Thranduil. "I'm sure the Elves will miss the children, too."

"They will." Thranduil sympathized. "Feren will be stationed here, to command the troops, and to assist you over the winter. Galion and I, with Lady Hilda's help, shall look after your people in my Halls. Is this also agreeable to you?"

"I've only spoken to him a few times, but he appears capable, and he seems to get along with my people well. Pers? Your thoughts?"

Percy was enthusiastic. "Aye; I've spent quite a bit of time talking to him, he's the man for the job, all right. I've not seen anyone who didn't take a shine to him. He's respectful to us and doesn't look down on anyone."

He cleared his throat. "All right; I'll visit the Palace next week with Thranduil, and give the to check things over. Old Ben will inspect the Great Hall, and the adjoining rooms to tell us how to get ready for winter. Secondly, give us an estimate of the stone we will need to fix the city walls. Once he's done that, have him go around the town and get lists together for what supplies will be needed to rebuild the town. Pers,"

"I'll get it done, Bard," Percy assured him.

"Elves aren't like us. They're used to jumping from the treetops, so if there are things that need to be adjusted for the children's safety, we make sure it's done before they come. All right, Thranduil?"

"I have already ordered the installation of railings for all of our walkways, to keep the children from falling. While we are there, you can suggest further measures to ensure everyone's safety."

Bard smirked. "Ah, so you already planned for them?"

"I considered this shortly after the Battle, since relations between our Kingdoms has been renewed, there will be children of Men coming there, and we would require them." Thranduil's mouth curved upwards.. "If you did agree, this would ensure they would be finished in plenty of time, and my people are anxious to ensure their safety." Thranduil's mouth curved upwards. "I've been told they are quite excited."

"Your Elves are anxious to see our kids, yeah?"

Thranduil chuckled. "As I have been telling you, Elves adore children, and we would never want to see them suffer."

"I don't think there's anything else, do you?" Bard asked around the table.

Thranduil answered, glanced down at his list. "I believe we have accomplished all we can for today. At a later time, we will write copies of our invitation with the terms and conditions to be signed upon our return."

"Terms and conditions?" Hilda asked him.

"Yes. Should there be any problems with or amongst your people, there will legal proof of my authority to settle disputes, and the guarantee that they, as guests of the Woodland Realm, are entitled to its protection, as well." Thranduil met Percy's eyes with a wry smile, "I am sure Galion has told you things like this always need to be recorded and kept for future reference."

"Aye, he has. My hand gets crampy, but I'm getting used to it." Percy gave them a lop-sided grin..

Bard had no argument for this. "My folk need time to learn what courtesies they need to observe there, and I expect them to follow it. Hilda, I'll make my final decision once I see the place, but let the rumor spread by word of mouth, to help them get used to this idea. I don't want to shock them with it.

"This should be made clear: should I decide they are definitely going, there will be _no exceptions_ , so don't let anyone come to you and try to argue they want to stay. It's for their safety, and I won't compromise on that. The rumor mill should give them plenty of time to get ready for the separation. Do we have anything else to discuss?"

"I propose we all meet again, after our return, to finalize the details," requested the Elvenking.

"Sounds grand." Bard agreed, as the older couple made ready to leave, and Percy was helping his wife into her coat.

Hilda kissed Bard on the cheek. "I'm happy for you both." She smiled brightly, as Percy gave the Kings a smug grin. She went to Thranduil and kissed his cheek as well. "I'm happy for both of you."

Thranduil, managed to quickly recover and kiss her hand. "Thank you, Lady Hilda. I shall do my best to make him happy." The corners of her eyes crinkled as she laughed at Bard, who was blushing furiously.

Before she and Percy walked through the open tent flap, she turned around, "One more thing, Thranduil," her eyes bored into him. "King or no, if you hurt our Bard, I'll cut your dick off."

Then she flounced out of the tent, and into the afternoon sun.

After Hilda left, after Bard stopped sputtering and apologizing, and after Thranduil _finally_ stopped laughing, the Elvenking got up from his chair and pulled Bard into his arms. "I know how much it will hurt you this winter, _Meleth nîn._ I am sorry I have no better solution."

Bard buried his nose in the crook of Thranduil's neck and sighed. "I know."

He tightened his arms around the Bowman, "It will be all right. Do not forget, I will be separated from you, _Meleth nîn,_ and it will be agony. I have only just found love again after so long, and I do not want to leave you!"

Bard swallowed a couple of times into his neck, unable to speak.

After a long while, Thranduil poured them some drinks, and they settled down to finished up their work for the day.

Bard needed to learn strategies to negotiate with the Dwarves, so Thranduil went over what he knew about their basic nature. Mithrandir would be meeting with the two of them tomorrow to give further insight. "You must be well-prepared, _Meleth nîn,_ as I cannot help you at Erebor. Neither of us can afford the appearance of favoritism between the Kingdoms."

"That's the way I want to do it, even if you and I weren't together; I am the King of Dale and I have to stand on my own."

Bard's voice was confident but his knee was bouncing up and down rapidly, until Thranduil put his hand on it and made him stop. "Nervous tics can be your undoing. I will tell you a trick I learned from my father; think about your toes."

"My toes?" Bard's eyebrow shot up.

"While you are listening, curl your toes inside your boots, and tap your finger against your leg to the count of ten, relax them. It works well for me."

"Thanks, love." Bard leaned his head back with a groan. "What if I stink at this?"

"You will not. You just need to believe in what you are doing, and everything will follow."

Soon, it was time for Bard to collect his children and bring them to his tent. With a kiss, or several, as it turned out, he left to get them.

When they first came in, Tilda had rushed over to Thranduil and wrapped her arms around his legs, and insisted Charlotte wanted to sit next to him at dinner. Of course, Thranduil agreed and even asked if Tilda would like to share the chair with her, and Tilda said she would, thank you very much.

He met Bard's gaze, full of happiness.

Tauriel bit her lip and hesitated when she sat with the rest of the family at first, but Sigrid helped put her at ease, as Galion entered with a triumphant expression. Hilda given him her recipe for Fish Pie (which was one of the children's favorites). When Galion announce there would be honey-cakes for dessert, Tilda clapped her hands in delight.

As they ate, Thranduil listened with a light heart to Bard and his children talk about their day. Sigrid was telling them about about helping in the Healing Tent, and she would now be doing this for a few hours each day.

"It was great! I helped to change sheets and fluff pillows, and empty privy pans." At this, Tilda's nose wrinkled in disgust, but Sigrid didn't care; she was too excited. "I also learned how to grind up Willow Bark, and make it into a tea. It helps with the pain, so I'll be doing a lot of that." She turned to Thranduil. "Elénaril – that's the one who will be training me - says the book you gave me was the best. She says everyone needs to start with mixing the herbs and potions."

"I am glad you will find it useful. Elénaril is an excellent teacher." Sigrid was lovely, intelligent and determined, and it wasn't hard to see why Bard adored her. "Did you find anything disagreeable in the Healing Tent?"

"Not so far. I've never been squeamish, which is good, because Da doesn't like the sight of blood; it makes him sick to his stomach." Sigrid giggled, which made all the kids laugh at their father.

"Oh, she's not fibbing!" Bain added. "Da's got no problem when we get colds or anything, but he's useless if there's any blood. If I get a fish hook stuck in my finger or something, he has to send me to Hilda, if Sigrid isn't around. Otherwise he'd be hanging over the railing outside our house!"

Thranduil couldn't help but laugh, and Tauriel and the children joined in.

That's not fair!" Bard raiders his eyebrows. "I don't always get sick; I just can't stand blood on any of you three."

"But what about the time you and Uncle Percy were fishing, and Percy cut his hand?" Bain retorted.

"He told us how you jumped to the side of the boat so fast, it nearly capsized!"

This made the poor Elvenking cough on his wine. Bard gave him a filthy look, which only encouraged the children to laugh harder.

Bard attempted to recover his dignity, "If you recall, I recently led our people in some sort of Battle to save a certain city, and I managed to keep my stomach contents."

Sigrid waved her hand dismissively. "That doesn't count. You were protecting us, and you were moving so fast, you never had a chance to think about it." She made a subtle gesture toward Tilda, and the subject of the Battle was dropped.

Bard shrugged and rolled his eyes. "I'll leave the blood and guts to you, Darling."

Thranduil took pity on Bard and changed the subject. He turned to Bain, "Would you like to tell us what your day was like? I am told you started training with Tauriel."

Bain lit up. "Yeah! She showed me some basic moves and forms. I'm not allowed to actually fight with anyone, until I know all my forms and can do them really fast. I can't go on to the next step until the first one is second nature."

"She is correct," the Elvenking's expression softened when observed Tauriel's shy smile. "Even now, I go through all my forms when I practice. They must become instinctive and automatic, because they might save your life one day."

"I'll remember." Bain promised.

Thranduil heart warmed, as he glanced at the little girl next to him. Tilda had a good appetite this evening, and her smile was genuine, not forced. "Tilda, you have dressed Charlotte in some of her new clothes."

"She says to tell you thank you for giving her new hair." She beamed up at him.

"Please tell her she is most welcome. The Tailor's Guild in my Kingdom worked hard to make her so beautiful, so I will pass along her compliments. I'm glad you like it, too.

When the honey cakes were passed out, they ate dessert, Bain asked Thranduil, "You said there are different sorts of Elves. How many?"

"There are several types of Elven folk, and countless stories about them. Shall I tell you one?"

All the children looked up at him with eagerness.

"After we finish with our meal, I would be happy to tell you one or two of them. There are also many stories of friendships between Elves and Men, as well."

Once the dishes were cleared, Bard, Thranduil, and Tauriel seated themselves in the cushioned chairs with the children sitting on the floor in front of them.

"It is best to start at the beginning, do you not agree? You know the story of Elu Ilúvitar, the father of all, and are familiar with the Vala, Ulmo, Lord of the Seas, am I correct?"

"I've heard about him and some of the other ones." Bain said.

"There's Varda and Manwë, and they're married, right?" Sigrid asked. "Then Yavanna, and her husband…I can't remember his name…"

"His name is Aulë, but the Dwarves call him "Mahal." They revere him especially. Do you know why this is?"

They shook their heads.

"The reason for this was because Aulë himself made the Dwarves. They are the oldest race on Middle Earth, even before the Elves. They are also the only race made by a Vala. All the others were created by Eru."

"Why?" Tilda asked.

"Aulë was impatient waiting for Eru to create his Children. He wanted children of his own to teach and to share his love of Arda. He formed his Dwarves out of stone, and loved them and taught them their language. He was afraid Morgoth, would corrupt them, so he made them able to resist domination by others, and to be independent and stubborn. Aulë also taught the Dwarves his skills in craftsmanship their race is now famous for.

"Eru Ilúvitar saw this and was displeased, as this was not his plan for Arda. Aulë repented, and decided he should destroy his beloved children, but Eru stopped him, because He understood Aüle did not rebel against him; his actions were borne from his deep love for this world. In his kindness, our Creator adopted them, and told Aulë the Dwarves will be put into a deep sleep, to be woken after his own Children were created. In the fullness of time, Elves, then Men were made, and all were asleep for a long time, while Arda was bathed in darkness.

"The Elves were the first to wake up, and the first thing they saw were the stars, which is why we all love and revere them to this day. So you see, we Elves were the first race to live on Middle Earth, but we were not the first created."

"How did the Elves get along with the Dwarves? Did they like them?" Tilda asked.

"Most of the time they did not, I'm sorry to say. But there were periods of time, when Elves and the Dwarves were friends, which is always better, do you not agree?"

"Bofur is my friend." She offered. "He's real nice and likes to sing."

"I am told he has been kind to you all. Bofur has been kind to Tauriel, too, and I am glad of it. I also hope you are making friends with the Elves as well, because we all like you, too." A smile danced on his lips.

"I like Tauriel a lot. Daeron is nice, and so is Tura... Tur..."

"Turamarth?"

Yeah, him." Tilda continued with her list.. "And you fixed Charlotte and gave her back to me, so you're nice, and some Elves play with us in the Children's Tent. And Galion cooks."

"Strictly speaking, Galion doesn't do the actual cooking, Little Bean." Bard winked at her.

"But he makes sure it's good!" She argued. "And he brings it when it's hot and there's always enough. That's a big job."

"You are absolutely right, _Tithen_ _Pen_." He said affectionately.

"I have a question." Bain sat up straight. "Why would the Elves and the Dwarves fight so much?"

"Elves and Dwarves have different talents and temperaments, and sometimes we forget to make allowances. Some Elves and Dwarves still hold on to the grudges of their ancestors, and use it as an excuse to remain hostile." Thranduil tilted his head and studied the boy, "Someday, you will be the ruler of Dale. What is your opinion?"

The boy sat back in his chair and considered this. "If were something really terrible, it would be hard, but if it was a long time ago, doesn't it seem stupid to be mad at someone for something their Great-great-great-great-Grandfather did?"

"And what would you do," Thranduil asked, "if someone were mad at you for something they told you King Girion had done?"

"I guess I'd tell them it's past, and it can't be changed. I didn't do those terrible things."

"Also, a wise answer. What would you do, after that?"

"I would ask them to think on what's happening in the present, and try to fix what we can today."

"Excellent!" Both Thranduil and Bard were smiling at him. "Bain, many will tell you this attitude is too simplistic, that things are much more complicated. But remember this, my young Prince: keep your ideals as simple as possible. Choose what your values and principles will be, and never stray from them. If you refuse compromise what you honestly believe to be honorable, you will be a good ruler."

"That'll be hard sometimes," Bain mused.

"There will be countless times when you must choose between what is right, and what is easy."

"That's true for everyone, whether they be a King, or not." Bard added, "Princesses have to learn this, too."

Tilda got up and climbed on Bard's lap. "What will be my job, Da?"

"Right now, your job is to be good, to learn your letters and help where you can. You're still a little girl, so you are allowed to play and have fun, but you must always be polite and kind," her Da told her.

"But I was doing all that before!" Tilda frowned. "Bain is going to be King, and Sigrid is going to be a Healer, and I want a real job like a Princess." Her eyes were beginning to water, and her lower lip trembled. "I'm not a baby, Da!"

"Tilda, would you be willing to do something for me?" Thranduil wanted to ease her distress. "I was going to ask Tauriel, but I think this is something only a child your age could do. Would you come here please, so I can tell you about it?"

Tilda got off her Da's lap, and went to stand before Thranduil who stood up. "One moment, My Lady, I must do this from my throne." He got up from the cushioned armchair, and went into his sleeping area to put his mithril crown upon his head, and went out to take a seat on his temporary throne. He made a show of adjusting his robes, then gestured to Tilda. "Please, come before me, _Tithen_ _Pen_."

"When a King gives an order, the person must stand in front of him straight and tall, so would you do this, please?"

The child stood at attention, as Tauriel but her lip, and Bard covered his mouth.

"Oh, wait!" and she quickly turned and handed Charlotte to Sigrid for safekeeping, and resumed her stance, with her head up and her arms at her sides, chest out, paying close attention. Now Bard was holding his fingers over his mouth, and Sigrid was grinning.

"Okay, I'm ready!" Thranduil could only keep a straight and serious face, because he had thousands of years of practice.

"Tilda, Daughter of Bard, Princess of Dale, I hereby request, with the consent of your King, of course, to make sure each child in Dale has toys of their own to play with."

Tilda frowned with disappointment, so Thranduil held up his hand, "Please; listen to my proposal, then you may decide whether you wish to carry out this commission, is this agreeable?" Tilda considered for a moment, and bib her head up and down.

"I request you to ask Tauriel to help you make a list, of what each one's favorite toy might be, what they would like, both the boys and the girls, and present it to me. Many in the Woodland Realm have been asking to make things for the children of Dale, but they do not know how many, or what they like to play with. There are toys the Dwarves could make for them as well, and you would be in charge of asking Master Bofur to help you. I will also expect regular reports on your progress."

Tilda plucked at her bottom lip, still deciding.

"This is an important task, because, many of your friends are sad, are they not?" He asked her, with no hint of condescension.

"Some of them don't have Mams or Das anymore, and they miss them."

"Precisely my point. It is a Princess's job to help her people, is it not?"

Again, Tilda's head bobbed up and down with enthusiasm.

"My Healers tell me when a human child is sad, it can make him or her more apt to get sick. Your Da wants all of the children of his Kingdom to be healthy, not just you three."

Tilda considered this for a moment. "So, this would be a really important job?"

"Yes, it would. Do you know why?"

"I was really sad when I didn't have Charlotte, and I was happy when you gave her back to me. All the extra clothes are nice too. So, we need to make the other kids feel better too. If they are really sad, they could get sick. Right, Da?"

Bard, smiling, "You're right, Little Bean."

"So, Lady Tilda, would you accept this Very Important Commission on behalf of myself, and your King?" Thranduil asked, regally.

"What does 'commission' mean?"

"Commission means, as you put it, a really important job." Thranduil replied. "So, do you understand and accept, My Lady?"

Tilda bowed her head and formally curtsied, "Yes, Lord Thrandool, I accept." She turned and retrieved Charlotte from her older sister, and crawled into the Elvenking's lap.

ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:

 _Tithen_ _Pen_ \- Little One


	16. Chapter 16

**Ruins of Dale; 5th of December, 2841 T.A.**

"Da?" Bard's oldest inquired.

They had just left Thranduil's tent, accompanied by Daeron and Tauriel, and were making their way back to get ready for bed. Tauriel was walking ahead with Tilda, who was busy telling the Red-haired Elf all about her Very Important Commission, and what was needed. Tauriel was attentive, and listened carefully, smiling broadly at the little girl, as she held her hand. Behind Bard, Bain was beside Daeron, and they were chatting about the boy's training.

"Yes, Darling? What is it?" he asked Sigrid, who was looking up at him with a suspicious face.

"Do you like King Thranduil?"

Here we go, he thought, with an inner smile. "Yes, I do. Do you like him?"

"Aye.. And not just because he gave me those books. He was mean at first, but he isn't anymore. He's nice to all of us."

"That he is, darling. I think he likes you kids, too."

"Well, he has to, doesn't he? I'm your daughter." Sigrid was baiting him, and he had no desire to discuss this while they were out in public, so she was just going to have wait. Tauriel had been right; she knows.

"Do you think he treats you like he has to like you?" Bard regarded her with a raised eyebrow and tucked her hand in the crook of his arm.

Sigrid was silent for a moment. "No. I don't think he does. He likes us because we are us, I guess. I think he would like you even if you weren't a King. Which you weren't up until a month ago." She smirked up at him.

"Well, thank you. I'm likeable, am I?"

"Well, I think so. And Uncle Percy and Auntie Hil, love you, so you must be all right."

Bard couldn't help but laugh. "What would you do if Auntie Hil didn't like me? Go live with her?"

"Of course," she deadpanned, "and I would take Bain and Tilda too. If Auntie Hil decides you're no good, then I'd have to."

"Then I'll make sure to stay on her good side. I wouldn't want to live out my life, knocking around in that big castle all alone."

Sigrid became thoughtful. "Da?" She leaned her head on his arm as they walked.

"What, Darling?"

"I'm glad you're not alone anymore."

Bard didn't have a chance to respond, thank goodness, because they arrived at his tent, and the guards were opening the flap to let them in. Tilda asked if she could go to Tauriel's tent to talk to her some more.

"If that's all right with her, and only for a short while; you need to get washed and into bed soon, yeah?"

"She is welcome to join me," the Elf assured him. "I will make sure to bring her back in time, My Lord." Tauriel assured him.

"Go have fun, Beanie." He kissed her hair, before Tilda trotted off with her Elf guard.

"Bain, how about starting to get ready for your bath, yeah?"

Bain rolled his eyes. "I didn't sweat that much, Da! I don't need to wash, do I?"

"Go. The tub's being filled right now."

Once Bain was splashing around in the bath, Sigrid sat down with Bard at the table, and looked at him expectantly.

"What is it now?"

"Like I told you, Da. I'm glad you're not alone anymore." Sigrid took his hand. "Mam has been gone for a long time, and she'd want you to be happy. We want you to be happy."

Bard wasn't going to insult her by pretending not to know what she was talking about. He put his other hand over hers. "Your opinion means a lot to me. So do Bain and Tilda's. I want you to be happy, too."

"I think he's good for you, you're good for him. He acted mean and snobby when he first came to Dale, but he's changed so much. Maybe he was just lonely. Some people act that way when they're unhappy. You told me a while back, after you started working for him, that his wife died, too, yeah?"

"I did, didn't I? His wife died a long time ago." He smirked, "He still misses her, just like I miss your Mam. He then looked at her seriously. "You know you children will always come first, don't you? If you three aren't comfortable, I couldn't-"

"It's all right, Da. Truly. I know you'd never do anything to make us unhappy, and I think he'll be good to us, so you don't need to worry. Tilda adores him, and he seems to feel the same way about her."

"What do you think of him?"

"I really like him, Da. When he talks to me, he seems genuinely interested in what I have to say. You don't have to worry about Bain, either. He hero-worships him. He might end up loving Thranduil more than he loves you!"

Bard squeezed her hand and grinned. "I'll just bet he would. But this would mean big changes in our family: Tauriel would be your sister, and Legolas would be your new brother, too. It was always just the four of us, before this."

"No, it wasn't, Da. There was Uncle Percy, and Auntie Hil, and they are family, too. We already know how to include others we love. Our lives are different now, anyway, and we're adjusting, don't you think?"

Sigrid make perfect sense, as usual. "Aye," he kissed her fingers. "We are at that."

"Does Uncle Percy and Auntie Hil know?"

Bard nodded. "Auntie Hil guessed. I wasn't going to say anything to them, until I spoke with you kids first. But, you know how she is; nothing gets past her. She approves, and so does Percy.

"That's settled, then. Auntie Hil wouldn't let anybody near you if she thought it would hurt us; Uncle Percy wouldn't either. They wouldn't care that Thranduil's a King, and it started a war." She looked at him earnestly. "It really will be all right, Da."

Bard's heart swelled with hope and happiness as he smiled at his oldest daughter. It was one thing to know he and Thranduil loved each other. To blend into one big Family was what they both truly wanted. not even Mattie's, Mírelen's or even the Valar's consent would mean anything if his children couldn't live with this.

"Do you love him, Da?" She asked him. "Because I can see he's in love with you."

"Very much. We want to marry soon."

"How would that work, exactly?" She asked him.

"Uh..." The last thing in the world he wanted to do was explain Elven sexuality. "Well -"

"I mean, he works in his Kingdom, and you have to be here. Where would we live?"

Oh, thank Ulmo and the Stars. "We'll just have to go back and forth between Kingdoms, and we'll be separated some of the time; there's no avoiding that. I won't let Dale be neglected any more than Thranduil will allow the Woodland Realm to be. And wevwon't be ruling together: Thranduil will be in charge of his own Realm, and I'll look after mine."

"That makes sense. Do you think the Dwarves will get mad and think you're working together?"

"Well, we are, but not in the way they might think. I'll have to prove to them I'm acting for Dale's interests alone. How Thranduil wants to handle his relationship with them, is his own concern. I need you not to speak about this until after we're done negotiating with the Dwarves and everything is signed, can you please do that? Our news could complicate things. In fact, don't speak of it, even then. Neither one of us wants any fuss."

"I won't say anything, I promise. I'm glad the elves will be here for a while. That means Thranduil can stay, because you won't be able to leave Dale for a while."

"Don't worry, we'll work it out."

Bard sighed. He was going to have to tell them sooner or later, and it might be easier if he told Sigrid first. "Sigrid, there's something I need to talk to you about, before Tilda gets back, and Bain gets out of the tub."

Sigrid looked worried. "What's wrong, Da? What is it?"

"You know winter's coming, yeah? Well, Thranduil wants you, and the rest of the children to come and stay with them for the colder months. He wants the women, and the sick to come, too. I hate it. I do. But he's right. We're just not ready to keep everyone warm and safe, and a tent is no place for a child all winter long." This was harder than he thought. "I don't want to send you away, and the thought of -" He swallowed. "I just can't take a chance on any of you getting sick, or worse, but we can't take care of you all properly. Not yet."

Sigrid sat for a moment. "It will only be for this winter, right? Auntie Hil will be there, too?"

"Yes. In fact, I also need to tell you kids I'll be leaving with Thranduil next week, for about four days. He's taking me back to the Realm for their memorial services for the families, and I want to see the Palace for myself. When you do leave, I want to come with you all to help you get settled, then I'll come back. I hope to visit, weather permitting. But I don't know if I can. It's supposed to be bitter cold." Bard looked down at the table, feeling miserable.

Sigrid was quick to try to comfort him. "I hate the idea of not being with you. We've always been together. But, I think you're right, Da. We'll all miss you, but I'll try to help with Tilda, and Bain, and we'll just do it. Having Auntie Hil there will help a lot. I can't see any other way, either." She looked at his face, and Bard must have looked stricken, because she got up and hugged him. "Don't worry, Da. We'll send you lots of letters, and Tilda will draw you pictures. You can write us too, and let us know how it is going here, all right?"

"I keep asking you how you got so smart, but I already know." He looked up at her. I'll always love your Ma, Sigrid. She meant the world to me. Thranduil still loves his wife, and neither one of us expect that to stop, and we'd never expect you children to forget her. Do you understand? She was your mother, and she always will be." He kissed her hand. "And, my dear girl, as long as you walk on Middle Earth, everyone will know and see for themselves how beautiful and wonderful she was."

Sigrid gave him a sweet smile. "There a bit of you in me, too, don't forget."

"Thank goodness for you it wasn't my homely face."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, stop." She giggled, then she reached for his hand. "I think Mam would like Thranduil. She'd want this for us."

"I think you're right, Darling." Someday, when the time was right, he would tell her of seeing his Mattie, of how she pushed him towards love and a new life. He would tell all of them. "Now, let me get Bain out of the water before his fingers get wrinkly, and can you go get Tilda?" He stood up, and kissed her forehead.

"Yes, Da." She put on her coat and turned to leave, then she looked at him and said, "Once you get Bain into his sleeping clothes, why don't you go see Thranduil? I can get Tilda into her bath and to bed, and Tauriel can stay with us. You know she loves it here. Besides, she's been telling us some stories Galion taught her when she was small. Tilda looks forward to them."

"Ah. So, you're trying to get rid of me? Your poor Da, thrown over for a couple of Elven tales."

Sigrid smirked, "I was hoping it wouldn't be obvious, but Tauriel's more interesting than you." Then Sigrid asked, "Will she be coming with us? This winter, I mean."

"No, I'm afraid not, and please don't ask her why, love. That's between her and Thranduil. I'm glad you mentioned Tauriel, though; I have an idea and need to check with him. In the meantime, please keep this to yourself."

"Sure, Da. I'm sure he wants to see you, too. Make sure you tell him we give our blessing."

"I will, Darling."

After kissing them all good night, he left again. He felt a little better about the winter, and much better about the children accepting Thranduil. Heg was hopeful, and excited, and he just wanted to be with his Elf.

He entered Thranduil's tent, and saw he was standing, facing away from him, looking at some papers. He went up behind him, and put his arms around him.

"I was just thinking about you," Thranduil said, as he pulled Bard's arms tighter around him, leaning head back. "In fact, I am always thinking about you, Meleth nîn." He leaned his head to the side, as Bard moved his hair so he could kiss his neck. "Mmmm… That feels good."

"You missed me, yeah? Already?"

"I miss you any time you are not with me."

"I know exactly how you feel." Bard whispered, in between kisses, then nibbled on his earlobe.

Thranduil turned around and, taking Bard's face in his hands, kissed his mouth, seeking entrance, which he was granted, and their tongues danced together, and their kisses grew more intense.

Kissing Thranduil, how they were together, was so different than with his Mattie. Obviously, much of it was because Mattie was a woman, and Thranduil was Elf, but it was more than that. When he was with Mattie, it was softer, somehow...that was it. She was softer, curvier, and it brought out a gentle, protective passion in him, and he had relished it. With Thranduil, it was harder, wilder, more forceful, and he loved that too.

Thranduil's mouth was more insistent, demanding, and Bard was matching his efforts easily as the kisses became something they both became lost in. When they were like this, Bard loved how he could close his eyes, and make the world disappear. Here, there was only Thranduil, and his warmth, his strength, his hands, just him. He was drowning in this Elf and it was a marvelous gift.

Bard, completely aroused, broke off the kiss, breathing heavily. "Come with me. Now." He grabbed Thranduil's hand, and dragged him to the sleeping chamber.

Thranduil followed him, grinning. "Didn't we just satisfy each other this afternoon, Meleth nîn?"

"No. When it comes to being with you, I could ever get enough. And I am not going back to my children with this in my pants!"

The Elvenking laughed, then pushed Bard until the back of his knees hit the bed, and he shoved him down roughly. Quickly, he shed his robe and his tunic, and straddled the Bowman, kissing him thoroughly, his icy white-blonde hair forming a curtain that surrounded them. Thranduil was nipping his lips, sucking on his earlobes, and kissing each side of the neck, up and down, as their hips and ground together, back and forth, and up and down. Oh, Valar, yes…

Bard ran his hands through that silky blonde hair, over that smooth chest, and clutched at the strong muscles of his back, as their kisses became more insistent, demanding. Then he grabbed onto Thranduil's middle, and flipped them over, with Bard on top, and between the Elf's legs. He pulled them to the middle of the bed, and started to nip and lick on one of Thranduil's nipples, and pinching the other one, roughly. The Elvenking fisted his hands in Bard's hair, and threw his head back, eyes closed, gasped and let out a loud moan. Bard loved feeling the sound vibrate through him. He had to stop, otherwise he would come, and it wasn't what he wanted yet, not to mention having to explain the stain on his leggings to his curious children… He sat up, kneeling between Thranduil's legs, put his knees on his thighs, panting. "Oh, love; do you have any idea what you do to me?" He leered down at his beautiful, pale Elvenking.

"I can feel what I do to you. I am in the same predicament." Thranduil sat up and kissed him, again.

Bard looked into his beautiful grey eyes, then gathered him into his arms. They just held each other for a few moments.

"I've been half-dead for so long, it seemed normal, Thranduil. I was just existing, making do, never daring to hope. If you could know what it's like for me to not be feel alone inside…" Bard swallowed.

"I feel the same, Meleth nîn. Does it frighten you, Bard?" Thranduil whispered into his neck.

"Yes, but only because I never want to lose love again, and be forced to go back to the way I was. I can't go back to being alone again. I don't think I could survive it, Thranduil." He whispered into the Elf's neck. "I love you so much." He hugged his Elf a bit tighter.

"You will never have to. And neither will I. The Valar would not have gone to such great efforts unless they knew we would never part. I believe this, do you not as well?" He smiled up at Bard. "And soon, we will be joined in marriage, and," he put his hand on Bard's heart. "I promise, you will never feel empty again." He pulled Bard's face down and started to kiss him again, only this time it was soft, and tender.

"Hmmm…. Are you referring to your 'Elf thing?'" He said, between kisses.

"Oh, yes…" Thranduil kissed him roughly, then.

Before Bard knew what was happening, Bard found himself on his back, tunic off, with the Elf unlacing his leggings, and pushing them down past his hips. Thranduil moved up and kissed his mouth with a probing tongue, then this neck, his collarbone, and came to rest on one of his nipples, where he suckled hard and rubbed the other between his fingers, as Bard had done to him earlier. "Aah! Mmmh!" He said between gasps. "I see turnabout is fair play, isn't it?"

Thranduil, letting go of the nipple, look up and smirked. "If you would like, I will stop." He offered, raising one eyebrow.

"Don't you fucking dare!" Bard gasped.

"As you wish, My King."

Thranduil kissed his way down to his stomach. "You are beautiful, Bard. I love to look at you." He murmured, as he moved down further, and Bard thanked the stars and all the Valar for bringing him love again.

"Are you enjoying yourself?" Bard asked him, eyes still closed, smiling, as long, pale fingers lightly outlined his lips.

"You have enjoyed yourself a bit more, do you not think?"

Bard snickered. "Yep. Won't argue with that." He turned on his side to face Thranduil. "You Elves are good at that." He grinned.

"I would not know how other Elves do this. I only know what I like."

"I absolutely like what you like." Bard smiled, his eyes closed again, and hummed with satisfaction. He opened them again, and those enchanting brown-green eyes looked into his grey ones, again. "So…you've never done that before, then."

"No."

"Are you serious? Thranduil, if this was only your first effort, when you get some more practice, you might just kill me!" Bard laughed.

Thranduil laughed. "I look forward to the practice."

"Good. I only want us to do things we like, even if they're not the same things. This is sacred, and it must be honest, always. Promise me?"

"I give you my solemn vow, Bard. You are right; we must be open with each other about what pleases us, or we will not be truly happy." He stroked his Bowman's cheek. "I am glad you came back, tonight."

"Me too. This wasn't the only reason for my visit, though." Bard closed his eyes and enjoyed Thranduil's hand on his face, nipping at the tips of his fingers.

"Oh?"

"Sigrid cornered me as soon as we got back to our tent, and told me she guessed. And she's happy for us. You already know that Tilda adores you. And Bain looks to you as some sort of hero." He laughed a little. "My oldest is a smart cookie, that one. She said that the reason you acted so cantankerous when you first came to Dale was, because you were lonely and unhappy, so you'll be glad to know she doesn't hold it against you. She likes you a lot."

Thranduil smiled, and he continued to caress Bard's cheek. "I am glad to hear this. I hope they know that I like them as well."

"They do. I hate the idea of them leaving me for the winter, and if there was any other way, I'd do it, but if we're going to be a family, this might help the children to get to know you better. I'd have a chance to get to know Tauriel, too." Bard leaned into his touch. "Thranduil, I want us to be a real, loving family.

"That is a good way to make the most of our separation." He couldn't help but tease Bard some more. "I must be good to all of you, or I will have to face Lady Hilda, and present my genitals for execution."

"Oh, stop it!" Bard laughed, and smacked Thranduil's stomach. He sank his head back into the pillow, and said, "I can't believe she said that! I should warn you, though; she meant every word."

"She is protective of the ones she cares about. It is an excellent quality."

They looked at each other, smiling. Soon all was quiet, as they spent several minutes kissing and caressing each other.

Bard thought of something. "You said the children would be staying with you in the Royal Wing?"

"I will place them in the apartment adjoining my Chambers, and put the girls in Tauriel's room and Bain will sleep in Legolas's. My study is also in that wing, so I should be there most of the time. I was thinking of installing Lady Hilda nearby as well. It will help the children feel more comfortable. She will oversee your people, so it would be convenient to have her close by, for meetings and such."

"Sounds good to me. Another reason I wanted to talk to you is Tauriel. She won't be with the children all winter long. She'll be at loose ends, and it won't be good for her."

Thranduil looked conflicted. "That is a concern of mine, as well. I cannot lift her banishment, no matter how much I want to." Thranduil rolled on his back and looked to the ceiling. "Bard, how can I not feel guilty for hurting her?"

"I know, love. I don't know what to say about it, except urge you to think of things you can do for her now. You need each other." Bard raised his arm and gathered Thranduil to him so his head was resting on Bard's shoulder. "Tauriel's family, now, and not because you and I are going to marry. She saved the children, and they love and trust each other. I don't want her to suffer any more than she has to, after losing so much."

"I do not want her to suffer either. But I do not know what can be done."

"Become the father I know you want to be. Start gently; earn her trust with small things. Spend time with her, Thranduil, and listen to her; prove you want to get to know her as she is now, yet tell her funny stories about the tiny little girl you remember. She'll eventually learn her heart is safe with you, if you be careful not to come on too strong." Bard suggested, then he changed the subject, "Can I ask you something? About Elven rituals?"

"Of course."

"I know that once we make love, we will be "joined" permanently, but about Tauriel? I highly doubt they did anything…physical, or if it's even possible, but would that help her if she didn't? I mean with her…whatchamacallit…"

"Her _feä_. Her spirit."

"Yeah, that. Anyway, would there be a chance that she would get over him?"

"I honestly do not know. Elves, as I said the other night, almost always fall in love but once. They did not "marry" according to Elven custom, and it might help her tolerate her loss. Galion learned to find some peace and happiness after his grief. He was in love with my father, but it was never returned, and though he suffered greatly when he died, there was no question of his survival. They did not experience the full effect of _Rista-Goeol,_ like I did."

"The what?"

"It is the 'Terrible Severing,' Bard. When an Elf falls in love, his fëa knows it. I knew it the moment I saw Mírelen. She did not return my feelings at first, but if she had not, I would love no other while she lived." Thranduil turned to Bard and smiled. "You see why I was confused when I fell in love with you. I was not expecting such a thing."

"So... Tauriel felt this 'Severing' when Kili died? Galion, too?"

"Yes. They suffer, but since their _fëas_ were never joined, they would not not be in as much danger of fading. I often think that is not a merciful thing."

"But you and Mírelen..."

"We were one. And when she went to the Halls of Mandos..."

"Your _fëas_ were torn in two." Bard whispered. "I'm so sorry."

"It is almost impossible to tolerate. The 'Severing' is terrible but the agony is in the empty space that can never be filled. Any Elf that has been widowed faces the same."

"And yet, you didn't fade. You survived."

"Barely. Perhaps I would have found peace sooner, had I just faced my loss, when the danger passed. Galion was right when he urged me to seek solace in the love of my son. But, I was so used to running from things, and I was afraid to do differently. Galion thinks there is some underlying reason, most likely from the War."

"Are you still talking with him?"

"Yes. But, some things I simply cannot talk about. At least, not yet."

"Like when you got those scars?" Bard whispered.

Thranduil's silence was answer enough.

"You will, when the time is right, Thranduil. Just keep taking small steps, and build on them. My Da used to say, 'Life is three steps forward, and one step back.' It was like than when my Mattie died. I would feel stronger, then something would happen to knock me on my arse again, and Percy would be dragging me out on his boat, getting me through it."

"How did you know you were getting better, Bard?"

"When I realized more time went past between those boat trips. First, it was a day or two, then a week, then a couple of weeks… The children, especially Tilda helped. She had no sadness in her - she didn't know any better - and she taught us how to smile and laugh again..." Bard kissed him. "I'd love to tell you that there was one magical thing that changed it all, but it never works like that, and it took a long time. If I'd met you before last fall, we wouldn't have had a chance. I had to be really ready."

"Maybe I had to be, as well."

"If you get upset, or have another horrible nightmare, just think of it as your 'step back,' recover from it, and keep on." Bard kissed his hair. "I believe in you, love. You can do this."

"Thank you." Thranduil whispered, pondering on all Bard had said.

Then, Bard changed the subject. "Enough of the serious talk. I was thinking of asking Bofur if Tauriel might spend some time with the Dwarves over the winter to distract her a bit. Dáin would have to agree, of course, so should I bring it up with him, myself?"

"Perhaps we should ask Mithrandir when we meet with him tomorrow. I will assign Daeron to guard the children while they are with me, and you could place Tauriel in charge of your personal guard during those months. She needs a to have task to perform."

"Good idea. But, why don't you assign her?"

"Bard, she is no longer my subject, she is yours. I am only her King when you aren't able."

"Still, it would mean a lot to her, if it you came from you. Don't ask her as a King. Ask her as a father, needing her to watch over your husband. Speak with her about the winter, and encourage her to visit the Dwarves, with your blessing, and tell her I agreed. Show her you're concerned for her well-being, which I know you are.

Thranduil thought about it. "Thank you, Meleth nîn. I shall do that."

"We'll talk to Gandalf. We need to give him back his hat, anyway, and thank him for those rings he gave us."

Thranduil was keeping the rings found under the Wizard's hat, in a box in the drawer of his bedside table. They were beautifully made; they were etched with vines with Emerald leaves, winding around a the onyx designs of the Black Arrowhead. They were amazed at the skill and craftsmanship. And they fit, perfectly.

Bard asked Thranduil, "Speaking of rings, when do you think we should marry? I want to do it before you leave for winter, don't you?"

"I agree." He sat up and looked at Bard. "We are leaving next week to go to my home. Would you like to have Mithrandir give us a blessing here, with our families, and then leave after?"

Bard smiled. "I'd love that. The children should be there, plus Percy and Hilda. We'll make a point to invite Tauriel, but you should do the talking; she's your family, as well as mine. We could have a meal together, then leave. Let the kids spread the word about our marriage, and when we come back, everybody will already know. Your Council, and my people won't have a chance to get involved, and drive us crazy."

"I would like only our families at our ceremony, as well. Tauriel, should be there, of course, and Feren, as he is my oldest friend, and Galion, as an honored guest. He has been as father to me, since I became King." Thranduil rubbed his nose against Bard, and whispered, "Then, we will leave straightaway, and when we arrive at my Palace, we shall go straight to my chambers…"

"…and I'll find out what this 'Elf Thing' is…" Bard whispered back.

Thranduil chuckled. "Yes. You will." He kissed Bard's brow, his eyes, then his lips, before grinning at him.

"No hints?"

"Not one."

"Good. I want our first time to be in a special place, not a tent. I'll bet that bedroom in the Palace is as fabulous you are. We'd have a couple of days away from the children, so it will be a honeymoon, of sorts."

Thranduil took his hand, kissed his palm, then started kissing his wrist, his forearm, all the way back to Bard's face. He whispered into his mouth, "There is nothing I want more than to be inside of you for the first time, in our bed in my Halls."

"Perhaps I can give you something to help with the waiting." Bard grabbed the back of his neck, and held the kiss, opening his mouth, rolling Thranduil on his back.

He felt Bard's hands in his hair, as their kiss became urgent, and he felt his loins stir. There were lips on his neck, then nibbling his earlobe, then - oh, he loved this - a mouth nipping and sucking at the tips of his ear. He gasped, and his hips and groin writhed against Bard, still trapped in his leggings and wanting out of them.

His Bowman didn't stop, or even slow down, until Thranduil's deep, urgent moans, turned into whimpers, then little mewls, until he melted, boneless into the mattress and pillows, unable to think, let alone form words, for many minutes.

He was panting hard, his face and chest felt flushed and warm, as he relaxed with eyes closed and a serene smile, as he floated in all the sensations flooding his body, and his heart. Bard was kissing his stomach, his chest, collarbone, all the way up, as Thranduil opened his eyes and saw his Bowman's beautiful face hover over his, with all that wild, black hair hanging in his eyes. Oh, he loved this man…

"How do you feel?" Bard asked.

"Hmmm…." Thranduil sighed. "If I were a certain foul-mouthed King of Dale, I am sure I could come up with some colorful descriptions of your skill at - what do Men call it?"

"You'll have to ask that foul-mouthed King," Bard laughed. "I think he has an entire list of them."

Thranduil grabbed the pillow from him, using his Elvish strength and speed, flipped Bard on his back and straddled him, saying. "I will write to Elrond, so he can check his library. He might add even more colorful names to the list. Then I will erect a statue of you, to honor your prowess."

Bard giggled, as he was pinned down. "No, you won't."

"Oh, and why not? I am King. My word is law." Thranduil tried his best to look imperious. "You cannot stop me."

"Oh, yes I can. One word from me, and I guarantee you, this will never, ever happen." Bard, grinned smugly.

"Really? And what magical word would dissuade me from my course, King of Dale?"

"Hilda."

"Ah. A powerful word indeed. And a frightening one." He let Bard go, which was a mistake, because turnabout was fair play, and he was grabbed by his middle and wrestled down.

"Please Sire, don't let that stop you. I'm dying to hear how high that baritone voice of yours can go, once she gets through with you!"

"You think Hilda of Dale could make me squeak like mouse? Me? Never!" Thranduil pounced, and almost managed to gain the upper hand, again.

Giving as good as he got, Bard fought back, "Oh, really? Tell me what would you rather face? A thousand Orcs, or one angry Auntie Hil?" He demanded, as he finally managed to pin Thranduil down to the mattress, only because Thranduil was laughing so hard he could hardly breathe.

"I think Hilda should hear all about this nude statue you plan for the Market Place, don't you?" Bard was ruthlessly holding the Elvenking down, looking into his red, laughing face. "Is Galion busy? I'll have him get her, and we'll see what she has to say." Then he turned his head toward the entrance to the sleeping chamber and opened his mouth and sang, "Oh, Galiooooonnnn..."

"All right! All right! Stop! I yield!" Thranduil managed to get out between guffaws. "Smaug would be terrified of her, when she gets angry. I do not know why you bothered with that Black Arrow..." Poor Thranduil was punished for that impertinent remark, when Bard grasped both wrists in one hand and tickling him senseless.

Finally they both had to stop and catch their breath, still chortling and giggling.

How long had it been since he felt this happy, Thranduil wondered. When was the last time he actually had fun?

And it would only get better...

He was feeling physical joy again, and he was anticipating with relish all he and Bard would become at their joining. Each time they touched each other, it made him want it more. The waiting was such a sweet, beautiful agony.

Words will never fully describe what this gift was for the Elves. He could go on for hours, trying to tell Bard what a joining was like, but he wouldn't. He wanted Bard to discover it all for himself, and watch, above him and in him, as it happened, just as he did when he and Mírelen were together for the first time, in his favorite clearing. He never forgot the look in her eyes, and her face, and he never, ever forgot the incredible feelings, when they were truly one. It was indescribable joy, and it will be again. He didn't want to miss an instant of Bard's discovery of such wonders.

He was excited about it, and it showed in the wide grin on his face.

"What are you thinking about, now, My King?" Bard asked, as he pulled Thranduil to him, wrapping him in his arms. Thranduil hummed with sated satisfaction, still smiling, and cuddled into Bard more, nuzzling his neck, never tiring of the warmth of his Bowman's arms.

"Two things, actually."

"Oh, really? And what are they, if a certain foul-mouthed King of Dale can ask?"

"First, that term: 'Addressing the Court?' How am I supposed to face my Council ever again, without thinking of it?" He chortled into Bard's neck.

Bard giggled. "And what is the second thing?"

"I was thinking of ways to rule the Woodland Realm while never leaving my bed. I do not think I ever want to get out of it."

He heard Bard sigh. "I know how you feel, love. I love this bed. It's the most comfortable one I've ever been in."

"Ah. So that is why you want me to make love to you. Is it only so you can have a nice bed to sleep in?"

"Yep. Well, its owner is sort of pretty, and he smells nice, too. But, to be honest, I'm in this for the mattress and feather pillows."

"If that is the case, I will have a bed made and send it to you. Then you would not be obligated to marry me. A simpler solution, do you not think?"

Bard kissed his temple. "Better yet. Leave this one here, so I can bed you in it. I've grown sort of attached to the idea of an Elf for my very own."

"That is well, because I am attached to the idea of having a Bowman for my very own."

"So, it's settled, then."

"So, it is." Thranduil smiled.

ELVEN TRANSLATIONS (I'm going to burn in hell for this; I just know it…)

 _Gi melin, Bard_ – I love you, Bard

NOTES:

Thanks to this website for the Doriathren Sindarin Phrases: /phrasebooks/sindarin/doriath


	17. Chapter 17

16

 **Ruins of Dale; 7th of December, 2941 T.A.**

Bard was it his wits' end!

Gandalf and Thranduil had been working with him all morning, helping him prepare for the meetings starting tomorrow, at Erebor. The more they tried to coach him, the more unprepared he felt.

Dwarves like to insult, they said; do not engage. They like to intimidate, so don't fall for it. Stand firm, but don't be aggressive. Aim high, but don't give in too easily, or they won't respect you.

On and on it went, until Bard threw up his hands in frustration.

"It's not my way to argue, for the sake of arguing, Gandalf! I'm _not_ going to pretend to be someone I'm not, just to keep their noses in place! I will _not_ behave like the Master of Laketown, with all this meaningless doublespeak!" Bard pounded the table. "I _fucking_ hate politics!"

Bard heaved a sigh, and he ran his hand over his face. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell. I just remember how the Master was, and I can't stand the idea of behaving that way. It feels like lying, and that's not who I am."

Thranduil rubbed Bard's arm, his voice calm and soothing. "I know you did not mean to shout, Bard, but you absolutely cannot lose your temper tomorrow, or for the next five days. You cannot. If Dáin thinks he can provoke you, then he will have found a weakness. It will also make you weak to other nations, if they know you are apt to be reactive. The entire future of Dale, and its place in Middle Earth starts tomorrow, and the stories will spread about their New King. The results of these talks will set the tone for every other nation who will seek to trade in the future."

"You think piling even more weight on my shoulders is going to make me feel better?" Bard gritted his teeth. "You think I don't know what's at stake? You think I don't worry, day and night, about whether I can even do this fucking job I was never prepared for? I can't screw this up – there's a War coming, and if this doesn't go well, the North won't survive!"

"I am sorry, _Meleth nîn."_ Thranduil covered Bard's hand with his own. "I did not mean to make you more upset. Now, look at me, please." Bard slowly raised his eyes to his Elf. "You are _not_ the Master of Laketown; you are a man of excellence, Bard. The people of Dale are wise to put their faith in you, and so do I. If Mithrandir did not think you could do this, he would be here."

Thranduil turned to others, "Bard and I could do with a bit of air before our mid-day meal?"

Gandalf got out his pipe, "I think that would be a good notion. I'm rather hungry, myself. Why don't you two take a walk while lunch is being prepared, and I'll stay and chat with Galion and Percy, here."

"Come, then." He pulled Bard up to a standing position, and gave him his coat. As they were leaving the tent, Thranduil looked at Gandalf meaningfully and said, "I agree it is better to tell the others. We will be back shortly."

Bard allowed Thranduil to lead the way, calm himself down. "I'm sorry, Thranduil. Really, I am. It's just so hard sometimes to bear all of this. Being so responsible… Sometimes it feels like I'm slammed from every direction, and I don't know how to get used to it. I want so much for Dale; this city could be all it used to be and more, and my people deserve better than they ever got from the Master."

"I understand, Bard. It must be difficult to look after them, when you never had to think of it before," the Elvenking commented, as they walked.

"Well, no, I did think about them. It was hard not to." Bard said. "But the Master was so self-serving, and he didn't care about those who were sick, or starving, and his men didn't care either."

"So, they were left to starve and succumb to illness?"

"Pretty much. The ones who could take care of themselves, were the ones the Master bothered with. They had money, so, of course he was interested, but the poor and the sick, were beneath his notice; they were a burden. If he wasn't going to get any money from them, they could die in droves for all he cared. To his mind, sickness and starvation were going to kill all the 'right' people."

"But there was not much you could do, to help them, Bard. You had so little, yourself."

"I tried smuggle in supplies and medicines when I could."

"So, it was not difficult to locate such things, or get them in the city." Thranduil speculated.

Bard huffed. "That's not true! It took some doing, let me tell you. But I managed. I even smuggled in some Dwarves as you well know." He smirked at the Elvenking.

"I am aware of that particular event." Thranduil smiled. "So, you smuggled in all those things by yourself, to help your people?"

"No. I had help. Hilda, Percy and some others took over the shipments, as soon as I brought them in, because the Master was always watching me. We had a system, to secretly distribute things, and a way to distract the guards. It was brilliant!" He smiled. "That's how I know those two will be a huge help to get the city on its feet."

"And Percy and Hilda designed this ingenious system, yes?"

"No, they didn't. I did. I mean, they helped, but I thought of who to ask and how it needed to be done. I've been at the wrong end of the Master plenty enough, so I knew all his men, where they'd be and what time of day, and who their friends were. I learned who to trust and who not to."

They walked in silence for a few moments. The air was getting colder, but the sun was shining. During the last two weeks, the streets had been cleared of bodies, and debris, and Dale was smelling much better. Too many of the buildings were still in ruins, but the potential of what it could be was much easier to see. Bard found himself looking around and imagining it full of color and life, and he smiled.

"Now, let us review." Thranduil continued. "You have been taking care of your people for quite some time, so that is not a new burden, is it? You have found sources for food and supplies other than what the old Master had provided, am I correct? You were able to devise a plan, to get them into the town, right under the noses of the Master and his men. You also devised a plan for distributing them, again, under the noses of the Master. I assume weren't got caught, because I doubt you would have been free to smuggle the Dwarves you mentioned earlier, am I correct?"

Bard thought about this, then smirked. He looked over at Thranduil, who was walking with his hands behind his back, his eyebrow raised on that beautiful face, pretending to look innocent.

"Yes?" The Elvenking asked.

Perhaps Bard wasn't as unprepared as he thought, was he? He could be cagey, he could be clever, and he knew how to get around obstacles, without them even knowing it. Maybe he could do this, after all.

Bard shook his head, and laughed. "No one has to worry about you, during these talks. You seem to be an expert at telling people what to think, aren't you?"

"Nonsense. I have not told you anything, Meleth nîn. I merely asked a question or two. If you have reached some sort of conclusion, it is because you already had the answers. Perhaps you needed to be reminded of them."

He laughed some more, then reflected. "I can't believe how different my life is now. But maybe the most important things about it are still the same."

"I agree. I also thought you might need a reminder of just why you are going to be working so hard."

Bard then realized where Thranduil was taking him.

"Hello children! How are you all today?" The Elvenking greeted the group as they entered the tent.

Bronwyn came over to Bard and Thranduil and curtsied. "We're happy to see you, King Bard, King Thranduil. Aren't we children?" She turned back to them. "Now, what do we do when we see our King, boys and girls? Let's show King Bard, and King Thranduil what we've been learning!"

All the children gave polite curtsies and bows. The littlest ones did their best, and the attempts were charming.

"That is very good, children!" Thranduil nodded his head to them. Bard applauded them, and bowed his head, smiling. After they were done, Tilda ran from the group, right past her father and hugged the Elf's knees.

"Well, I can see where I'm not wanted," Bard laughed, as Thranduil picked Tilda up and balanced her on his hip. "So, you love him better than your old Da, now?"

"Do not be silly, King Bard. Tilda is simply giving me her report on the Important Task I have assigned to her. We agreed I would have daily updates, did we not, Lady Tilda?"

Tilda grinned at her Da, and nodded up and down enthusiastically. Then she cupped her hand around her mouth, and whispered some things into the Elvenking's ear, who listened intently, hummed and nodded several times.

"I see. I thank you, Lady Tilda, for this report. You are making satisfactory progress. I shall speak to you tomorrow, yes? Now, you must go back to your friends, but your Da would like some attention, do you not think?" He put her down, then Tilda hopped over to her father for a kiss and scooted back to the others.

Bard and Thranduil watched the children play for a few minutes, then said their goodbyes. As they were making their way back to the Elvenking's tent Bard felt immeasurably better. He knew this would still be a harrowing week with the Dwarves, but he no longer doubted himself. Thranduil helped to remind him, in the best way possible, who he was, and who he was fighting for, and why.

Something else occurred to Bard. Thranduil chose to tell his children the story of the Aulë and the creation of the Dwarves to help him, too. If he understood who they were, where they came from, and why they had the personalities they did, he could have a much better chance of success with them. He looked over at his Elf, trying not to look too besotted with him.

It must not have worked, because Thranduil smiled back and said, "I see you are feeling better. But it might be wise if you did not look like you want to tear my robes off. It would be unseemly to leer at me so, in public; I am a King after all."

"So am I. But you're right. He sighed. "Thank you for taking me to see the children. I do feel better, but I'm still not looking forward to all of this."

"I understand. But keep in mind, Dáin will only be there tomorrow, and the rest of the time, we will be dealing with Balin. He is much more judicious, is he not?"

"You're right. He is. That's good to keep in mind."

"In addition, I have the impression Mithrandir will be telling my Aide and yours about the true identity of the former resident of Dol Guldur. Your comment, about the Necromancer forced the issue."

Bard stopped. "Oh, shit! Thranduil, I'm sorry. I was just so upset. I shouldn't have -"

"Peace, Bard. I think it is a good thing. I believe all parties should be aware of this ahead of the meetings. I am going to urge Mithrandir to see Dáin this evening and inform him. This might put him in a more cooperative mood. Once the Dwarves know the seriousness of what is at stake, much posturing will be eliminated."

"Thank you Thranduil; for everything. None of this would be possible, if you hadn't came to Dale."

"Nonsense. I merely came Dale to get my heirlooms back." Thranduil said with a small smile on his face.

"And, as I said before, I don't believe you." Bard smiled back.

They were silent for a moment, then Bard told him, "I really hope you get them."

"I hope so, too." Thranduil looked thoughtful. "My reasons now for wanting them are different than when I first came. I am glad of it."

"Is it because of me?"

"Not as much as you might believe, which is a good thing."

"Why is that?" Bard was curious.

"I have started to face memories of her now. It is still difficult, but I think it will become easier, with time. When I was confronted on the day of the Battle, those were terrible moments for me. Strangely enough, I believe those confrontations gave me the impetus to change my thoughts and actions."

"The Valar inspire us in ways we sometimes never expect, you like to tell me." Bard reminded him.

"I did say that. I struggle to not be angry with myself about it, because what would be the point? I think I had to wait for the right time."

"Why now, do you think?"

"Perhaps the Valar was waiting for a certain Bowman to slay a Dragon. Or maybe I had to wait until Mirelen was sent to Valinor, after her time in Mandos' Halls was ended. Regardless, now that I have been released from our bond, it is a strange, but good feeling. In losing her, I have her back again." Thranduil smiled. "It does not sound logical, I know, but it feels true, nonetheless."

"It makes perfect sense, Thranduil, it really does. You don't have to run from your memories, anymore."

They both smiled. Then Bard told Thranduil, "You know, even if you are with me, you might still have days when you miss her. It's still going to hurt, now and again."

Thranduil stopped and looked at him. "Why do you say this?"

"Because, I think we both will. Sigrid is the picture of her mother, and I'll always love that about her, but it still hurts to see once in a while. She'll do or say something that makes me see Mattie, and it's hard. Tilda makes me think of her too; when she learns something new, Mattie isn't there to see it. If I see a flower or a pretty sunset, I think of how she loved them.

"Even though you and I are together, we'll have moments, but that's all right Thranduil. The memory of wives aren't a measure of what you and I have or don't have. They'll remind us how blessed we were to have them in our lives. As long as we can talk about it, we'll be fine. In fact, I'd like to know more about your wife, whenever you're ready."

"Thank you, _Meleth nîn._ I would like to do that, sometime."

They continued to the Elvenking's tent, and finished their preparations.

This evening's dinner was as pleasant as before, with the children and their chatter, as Thranduil smiled, over their heads, at Bard. Tauriel seemed to be enjoying herself, too. He was watching her with the children, seeing her fondness for them, and he was pleased at their natural rapport. It was a good decision to make sure she would be around children, but even better now, because these children would soon be siblings!

Bard was right. Now that Tauriel was no longer his subject, perhaps this made it easier to gently cultivate their relationship. Tauriel would need his support, to help her move on from Kili. He and Bard made sure she attended these family dinners as with the children, to help them grow into a family.

Thranduil couldn't deny the awkwardness between them; she was used to dealing with the inaccessible King as a child, then an icy, haughty Commander as an adult. It was useless to think of what could have been, but how could he not to berate himself? Galion and her caregivers had made sure she had known plenty of love and affection, but how does that make up for what she had sought from him? He felt blessed and excited at having the chance to experience some of the joys of genuine parenting with Bard's children, but how to make it up to an elleth who lost her parents, lost a childhood with a man who should have been a real father to her? Even so, nothing would prevent him from trying to be a father to her in whatever way she was ready for, now. It was all he could do, and he wanted to, with all his heart.

This evening was also an important milestone for little Tilda, although it didn't start out that way.

When Tauriel brought them into his tent for dinner, earlier, there were all the usual greetings, of course. Then Tilda crawled into his lap, scaring him practically to death, as she proudly showed him her brand-new, gap-toothed smile. Thranduil gasped and his eyes opened wide in alarm.

" _AI, TILDA! MAN SE, HÊNIG!"_ He cried, his heart leaping into his throat. _"Tíro nin, Tithen pen!"_ He tilted her head up so he could get a better look. "Nae! Have you seen this Bard? What in Arda has happened to her?"

Even Galion came hurrying over, wanting to see what was wrong, gasped, and began to speak rapidly in Sindarin, as they both looked down at the little girl, concerned.

"Tilda has suffered an injury, Bard! Did someone hurt her?" Thranduil asked Tauriel, then turned back to the little girl, "Did someone hurt you?"

His apprehension was met with giggles, mostly from the child on his lap.

Bard got up from his chair and went over to Tilda, and put his fingers on her chin. "Open up, love. Let Da see what all this is about." He examined her teeth. "Aye, I see the trouble now. I didn't even know it was loose. Good for you, Little Bean!"

Thranduil stared at him open-mouthed. "What is this?" he demanded. "What is going on?"

"It's nothing to worry about, Thranduil. Tilda lost a baby tooth, that's all."

"Baby tooth? They have baby teeth?"

"They have baby teeth." Bard informed him.

The Elvenking kept staring at Tilda, still not convinced she was fine. "Is she going to be all right?"

Bard, smiled and sat back down. "All children her age, start to lose their baby teeth. Her mouth is getting bigger, and she is making room for her grownup teeth. Don't worry, soon Tilda will have a whole new smile, right love?" He grinned at Tilda, still seated on the Elf's lap.

"They will all fall out? All of them?" Thranduil asked, weakly, and Galion didn't look much better.

"Yeth! And the other front tooth is looth too!" Tilda lisped proudly.

"It doesn't hurt you?"

She shook her head. "No. Well, maybe a teeny bit, but when I lotht my bottom two teeth, it didn't hurt at all."

Thranduil looked from Bard to Tilda, skeptical, then back to Bard, who snickered, then started to laugh. "I do not understand what is so funny! How am I to know about human children?"

"I thcared you!" The child in question pointed at him, and giggled in glee, hugging Charlotte, who was sporting her blue dress today, with matching shoes.

All the rest started to snicker, as Bain nudged Sigrid. "I told you he'd have a fit."

Even Tauriel was holding her hand in front of her mouth, smiling. Thranduil looked desperately over at Galion, hoping at least he would approach all this with some sense. His Aide was looking like he was chewing the inside of his cheek.

Bard wasn't even trying to control himself. "I'm sorry, Thranduil." He wiped one of his eyes. "I'm sorry, but you should've seen your face…" and grabbed his middle, laughing in earnest.

Thranduil gave his lover haughty look, complete with an eyebrow raised almost to his hairline.

Sigrid took pity on him first, and went over to his chair and put her arm around his shoulders, protectively. "Now, stop picking on poor Thranduil!" She turned to him and kissed him on the cheek. "Don't feel bad. Tauriel wasn't exactly calm when it first came out. It took Bronwyn ten minutes to convince her no one had hit her. This one bled a lot more than the others." Sigrid said. "And aren't we all glad Da wasn't around for that part?" She looked pointedly at her father, smirking with an air of superiority.

An evil grin appeared on Bard's face. "Oh, tease your old man, would you? It seems to me, I recall a certain little girl with a loose tooth—"

"Da-aaaa!" Sigrid gasped, as only an adolescent female can. "You wouldn't!"

"I would, and I will, and you started it." He smiled at his oldest and stuck his tongue out at her. "Now that we've convinced the Elvenking that Tilda is in no imminent danger, why don't we ask him to stand down his armies, so we can eat?" suggested Bard, with a sly grin. "Then I have a story for you, about when Sigrid lost a tooth, how about it? Sigrid and Bain, would you help Galion fetch our dinner? And you, Beanie, can help set the table, all right?"

"Bard, they do not have to…"

Bard held up his hand. "This is what they have done all their lives, and just because they're Royalty now doesn't excuse them from helping."

Thranduil smiled at Bard, as Tilda climbed down from his lap, handing Charlotte to him for safekeeping, and went over to Galion, taking his hand as they all left to fetch their dinner.

Bard took pity on him, and tried to take Charlotte from Thranduil's lap, but he refused. "Tilda gave her to me to watch, and here she shall remain." He said proudly.

Bard laughed at him. "I think I'll take Tilda to Erebor with me. There'd be no need for talks, and I'd come home with half treasure in the mountain! All she'd have to do is look at King Dain with that face of hers, pout a little, and that would be that."

Thranduil smiled. "Of this, I have no doubt." To Tauriel, he said, "Come, sit down, please. How is Bain's training coming along?"

"He is very eager, My Lord, and has been practicing faithfully." She said, taking a chair.

"Tauriel, we are having a family dinner, so no titles in private, please." Bard said.

"But -" She looked from Bard back to Thranduil, who smiled at her, and nodded.

"Did Bard not say you were family?" he asked her.

"Yes, My… Yes." She agreed, bemused.

"You are Bard's subject now, which means you are no longer under my authority. You must do as he says." Thranduil said in a light tone, with a small smile.

"Actually, Tauriel, we wanted to get you alone, because we need to ask you something." Bard said. "Once the talks with the Dwarves are finished, Thranduil will be going to his Kingdom for several days, and I'm going with him. While I'm gone, I'll need you to stay with the children."

"Of course, I will; it would be a pleasure."

"There isn't anyone I trust more to look out for them." Bard smiled. "There's something else, too. Something personal we'd like to ask you, if you would…" he looked at Thranduil, who turned to her.

"Tauriel, the morning before we leave, we have asked Mithrandir to come to my tent to marry Bard and myself according to the customs of Men, then have a luncheon with our families as a small, private feast. Lord Percy and Lady Hilda will be there, along with Bard's children. Commander Feren and Galion will also attend as guests. I would be honored if you would join us as part of my family, as well." He put his hand on hers, and gave it a small squeeze.

Tauriel, overwhelmed, smiled shyly, and nodded.

"Wonderful! That's settled, then." Bard said cheerily. "We're keeping this a secret, because this is about us, not two Kingdoms. No pomp and ceremony, no hullabaloo. The children don't know yet, but we'll tell them in the next day or two, so please don't say anything. We're counting on them to spread the word after we leave." He looked at Thranduil and smiled, then he turned back to Tauriel. "We just want family, of which you are definitely a member." He finished his sentence in time for the others to appear with their meal. "Ah! Here we are. Let's eat, shall we?"

As they were eating dinner, Bard was telling them all about the time Sigrid was Tilda's age, with a loose tooth. She had gone with a little friend to play, and came home with a black eye. "A right shiner it was. Your mother was having kittens, she was so mad. She wanted to march right down to— what was her name, Sigrid?"

Covered her face. "Astrid, Da. Her name was Astrid, and you _really_ don't need to tell this story."

"Sure, I do. Your sister needs cheering up. She just lost a tooth, after all."

"I don't need cheering up, Da! Thith means I'm growing up!" Tilda protested.

"I guess I need cheering up." He pouted at his youngest. "You promised me you'd always stay little."

"I did not!" Tilda objected.

"My mistake. Anyway, Mattie was ready to march down to see Astrid's mother and give her a shout, when Sigrid stopped her and said…"

"Da, please…" Sigrid begged, "I'll do anything..."

"But, I wanna hear what happened!" Tilda cried.

"I would like to hear as well. Why would a little girl do such a thing to our Sigrid?" asked Thranduil.

"Sigrid asked her to." Her Da said smugly.

Now Sigrid had both her hands over her face.

"Surely not!" said the Elvenking.

"Thurely not!" Tilda echoed.

The storyteller had to pause, because Tauriel was choking on her wine, and Tilda had to thump her on her back.

"You gonna live, over there?" Bard asked her.

Tauriel nodded her head, still coughing.

"You were saying?" Thranduil raised an eyebrow.

"Where was I? To answer your question, Little Bean, your sister 'thurely' did. Mattie asked her, 'Why in Ulmo's name you would want to get punched in the eye?'"

"Why would Sigrid want such a thing?" Thranduil was completely confused.

"Well, I'll tell you: Our girl put her hands on her hips, grumpy-like, and said, 'I wanted this tooth to come out, so I told Astrid to punch me really, really hard in the mouth, and she missed and hit my eye, instead!' then Sigrid stomped off, madder than a wet hen, and pouted, for hours."

Everybody was laughing, by then. Tauriel's eyes were scrunched shut, and she was holding her hand over her mouth, and Galion didn't bother attempting to keep a straight face. Even Sigrid, embarrassed as she was, joined in the merriment.

"Thrandool? Don't Elveth have baby teeth?" Tilda asked.

"No, _Tithen pen_. That is why I was so frightened. I thought maybe someone a hit you in the mouth." He smiled down at her, and booped her nose.

"When doeth a baby Elf be a big Elf?"

"When Legolas and Tauriel looked to be your age, they were about twenty years old, in your years. They were like Sigrid when they were about seventy. We don't consider an Elven child to be an adult until they are one hundred years old."

"Wow." Bain breathed.

"They grow much more slowly compared with us, so maybe their teeth don't fall out, because they grow like our bones do." Sigrid said. "That's interesting."

"It is fascinating to consider how Elves develop, compared to humans, is it not?" Thranduil asked her.

"I've got a lot to learn, then, don't I?"

"Yes, you do, _hênig_ , but I am confident you will. All you children will have to work hard and learn much, in order to serve your Kingdom well. But I have no doubt you will excel. Tauriel worked hard to learn and train, and she served the Woodland Realm with excellence for many years. I am proud of her."

Thranduil smiled at his foster-daughter, who blushed, awkwardly.

"Tauriel, what were you like when you were little?"

"I would be happy to tell you about that, Tithen pen." Thranduil said, glancing at Tauriel before he addressed Tilda. He looked over at Galion, who had a grin on his face. "Galion and I, as well as most of the Palace could tell you, she was lovely child, and very endearing."

"You knew her when she was little?" Tilda looked between Galion and Thranduil, curiously.

"We did. You see, Tauriel grew up in my Halls, in the Royal Apartments. She came to us when she was still a baby, although she could walk and say a few words."

"A toddler, then." Bard said.

"I'll bet she was cute," said Sigrid.

Thranduil chuckled. He could feel Tauriel's surprised look, rather than see it. Gently, Bard said…

"She was a beautiful child. Her hair was lighter then and very curly. She was mischievous, and into everything. When Legolas was that age, he liked to run everywhere as fast as he could, and we spent much of our time chasing after him. Tauriel was more interested in getting into things. Galion used to ask me if we were sure she only had ten fingers, as it seemed to him she had twice as many! We used to call her _Gwinïg_."

"What does that mean?" Bain asked.

Thranduil laughed softly. " _Gwinïg_ means 'Little Fingers.'" An appropriate name, do you not think, Galion?"

"Most appropriate." Galion laughed, grinning down at Tauriel.

Tauriel blushed, and smiled down her plate.

"Did Tauriel ever get into trouble, like Thigrid did?" Tilda asked.

"Tilda! I didn't get into trouble, I just wanted my tooth out!" Sigrid said. "It wasn't my fault Astrid missed!"

Tilda rolled her eyes, unimpressed.

"Galion deserves most of the credit for how well Tauriel grew up, Tilda." Thranduil looked at his Chief Aide, not in sadness and regret, but with admiration and gratitude. "I think you will find, there was no one in my Realm who knows our little Gwinïg, better."

"Yes, Tilda, Tauriel got into mischief, many times." Galion told her. "Once when she was smaller than you were, she went into my study and got into the inkpots on my desk, spilling it all over some important trade agreements. It took Lord Thranduil and I all night to rewrite them in time for the meetings the next day."

A wave of delighted horror swept through the children, and they looked at Tauriel in a whole new light. Clearly, they were impressed; especially Bain. Tauriel looked a combination of embarrassed and flattered at being the center of attention.

"I'll bet you were really mad," Tilda predicted.

"I was not pleased at all." Thranduil said. "But she was too young to understand what she had done. She had always been a curious child, and asked questions about everything she saw. After Galion discovered the state of his desk, I went into her room, to find her sleeping with ink all over her hands and her clothes, and smudges all over her sheets and blankets."

"What did you do?"

Thranduil shook his head at Tilda. "Nothing. Her little face looked like she had cried herself to sleep, and I could see she felt bad about what she had done. I let her sleep, and then ordered Galion to have locks put on the doors and cupboards to keep her out of things until she got older. It took a while for all the ink to fade from her skin. I was very glad she did not get ink in her hair, because I did not want to see all those lovely curls cut off."

"My desk still has the spots from the ink." Galion smiled proudly. "Lord Thranduil offered to replace it, but I rather liked how Gwinïg decorated it." He smiled at Tauriel fondly.

"That's too funny," giggled Sigrid.

Bard gave Thranduil a wink. "I'll bet Thranduil got into his share of trouble, and I'm sure Galion has a few stories to tell. What do you think kids, shall we ask him?"

Despite Thranduil's objections, Galion was only too happy to share a story or two to prove the Elvenking had hardly been a well-behaved Elven Prince. Everyone listened eagerly. Especially Tauriel.

Thranduil decided the embarrassment was worth it, as he watched her face. She was genuinely having a good time, and this made him happy. He looked at his Bard, and sent up a silent prayer of thanks, for bringing this man into his life.

 **Ruins of Dale; 8th of December, 2941 T.A.**

The first day of talks at Erebor was long and exhausting. When they finally got back to Dale, Bard and Thranduil stopped at the Elvenking's tent for a short time, holding each other, and exchanging a few kisses and caresses, but Bard was exhausted, and didn't want to stay.

"I'm sorry, love." He told Thranduil, as he snuggled into his Elf's neck. "I'm so tired, and I haven't seen the children all day. We didn't even get to have dinner with them."

"I, too, am fatigued." Thranduil kissed him again. "Go and get some rest. Today went well, but we are only at the beginning. Please tell the children good night for me."

"They'll probably be asleep, already. It's so late."

"Could you bring them with you in the morning? We could have breakfast together. I do not want miss them entirely, like we did today."

"Aye. I'll do that, then. Good night, and I love you."

"Gi melin, Bard." They kissed once more, and he left for his tent.

Several minutes later, Bard fell into his bed, and had no trouble falling asleep, for once. After a time, he woke up to a terrible wailing sound…

Tilda was screaming.

Bard shot up into a sitting position, clambered out of bed, and went to the cot his youngest was sleeping in. "Tilda, wake up, darling. Come on now, wake up."

He pulled her into a sitting position, and she was still crying, sobbing so hard she couldn't catch her breath; she'd knocked the wind out of herself.

Tilda did this when really upset. He took her head in his hands and blew into her face, with hard short breaths, to startle her into inhaling. It worked, and she then let out an even louder howl. He gathered her into his arms. "Shh, Shh…there now, Little Bean, wake up. Da's here, and you're safe now." She was still crying, but she slowly became aware of her surroundings. He kissed her hair and rocked her a little bit. "Are you awake, now?" he asked as he stroked her hair. She nodded her head, but she still cried. He rubbed his hand up and down her back, making shushing noises, trying to soothe her fright.

Sigrid sat up. "Is she all right, Da?"

"Aye, she'll be fine. Go back to sleep, now." He told her.

Before she did, Sigrid got up and brought Bard a washcloth and some water. He wiped Tilda's face, blew her nose, and persuaded her to drink a little bit. Then she started to calm down, still wrapped up in his arms.

"I had a bad dream." She sniffled and rubbed her eyes.

"You sure did, Beanie. Can you tell me what it was about? You'll feel better if you can talk about it."

"She spoke to him in a wobbly voice, between hiccups. "W-we were thupposed to go in the Great Hall, and you went away, and the Trolls found uth." She sobbed. "I kept yelling your name and looking f-for you, but you didn't come! I wath afraid you were d-dead." She sniffed.

"Well, I'm glad you woke up." He said soothingly. "I'm right here, and you're all right now, yeah?" He still stroked her hair. "You're safe, and in your Da's arms, right?" He felt her head nod up and down. "I'm sorry you were scared, darling. Do you want some more water?"

"Maybe a little." She took another drink, and handed it to him, and he set it on the small table in between their beds. "Can I thtay with you, Da? I'm afraid to go back to thleep."

"Sure, you can. Do you need to visit the necessary?" She shook her head no. "Come on then." He picked her up and they went to his cot and snuggled together. "Are you warm enough?" She nodded her head again. "Good. Now, let's try to get some sleep, shall we?"

They lay there for a few minutes, settling in. "Da?"

"What is it, Beanie?"

"Do you like King Thrandool a really lot?"

"I do. Do you like him a really lot?" Bard asked her.

"Uh huh."

"Why do you ask that?" He rubbed her back to help her fall asleep.

"Becauth, I he liketh you a really lot, too."

He smiled in the darkness. "How can you tell?"

"He lookth at you the way Uncle Perthy lookth at Auntie Hil." She yawned. "It's really nithe," she mumbled, as he smiled and kissed her brow. Soon, her breathing became regular and she was asleep again.

Bard smiled in the darkness until he, too, fell asleep.

 **ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:**

 _Ai, Tilda!_ – Oh, Tilda!

 _Man se, hênig!_ – What is this, my child?

 _Tíro nin, tithen pen. Nae!_ – Look at me, little one. Alas!

 _Tithen pen_ – Little one

 _Hênig_ – My child

 _Gwinïg_ – "little fingers."

 **NOTES:**

\- Tilda's little lisp is adorable to hear, but it's murder to write, so this is the only chapter that you'll have to struggle through reading it, I promise.

\- Many years ago, a certain little girl actually did ask her friend to punch her, to knock her tooth out, and came home with a black eye. Thanks D, for giving me such a great story.


	18. Chapter 18

16

 **Ruins of Dale; 7th of December, 2941 T.A.**

Bard was it his wits' end!

Gandalf and Thranduil had been working with him all morning, helping him prepare for the meetings starting tomorrow, at Erebor. The more they tried to coach him, the more unprepared he felt.

Dwarves like to insult, they said; do not engage. They like to intimidate, so don't fall for it. Stand firm, but don't be aggressive. Aim high, but don't give in too easily, or they won't respect you.

On and on it went, until Bard threw up his hands in frustration.

"It's not my way to argue, for the sake of arguing, Gandalf! I'm _not_ going to pretend to be someone I'm not, just to keep their noses in place! I will _not_ behave like the Master of Laketown, with all this meaningless doublespeak!" Bard pounded the table. "I _fucking_ hate politics!"

Bard heaved a sigh, and he ran his hand over his face. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell. I just remember how the Master was, and I can't stand the idea of behaving that way. It feels like lying, and that's not who I am."

Thranduil rubbed Bard's arm, his voice calm and soothing. "I know you did not mean to shout, Bard, but you absolutely cannot lose your temper tomorrow, or for the next five days. You cannot. If Dáin thinks he can provoke you, then he will have found a weakness. It will also make you weak to other nations, if they know you are apt to be reactive. The entire future of Dale, and its place in Middle Earth starts tomorrow, and the stories will spread about their New King. The results of these talks will set the tone for every other nation who will seek to trade in the future."

"You think piling even more weight on my shoulders is going to make me feel better?" Bard gritted his teeth. "You think I don't know what's at stake? You think I don't worry, day and night, about whether I can even do this fucking job I was never prepared for? I can't screw this up – there's a War coming, and if this doesn't go well, the North won't survive!"

"I am sorry, _Meleth nîn."_ Thranduil covered Bard's hand with his own. "I did not mean to make you more upset. Now, look at me, please." Bard slowly raised his eyes to his Elf. "You are _not_ the Master of Laketown; you are a man of excellence, Bard. The people of Dale are wise to put their faith in you, and so do I. If Mithrandir did not think you could do this, he would be here."

Thranduil turned to others, "Bard and I could do with a bit of air before our mid-day meal?"

Gandalf got out his pipe, "I think that would be a good notion. I'm rather hungry, myself. Why don't you two take a walk while lunch is being prepared, and I'll stay and chat with Galion and Percy, here."

"Come, then." He pulled Bard up to a standing position, and gave him his coat. As they were leaving the tent, Thranduil looked at Gandalf meaningfully and said, "I agree it is better to tell the others. We will be back shortly."

Bard allowed Thranduil to lead the way, calm himself down. "I'm sorry, Thranduil. Really, I am. It's just so hard sometimes to bear all of this. Being so responsible… Sometimes it feels like I'm slammed from every direction, and I don't know how to get used to it. I want so much for Dale; this city could be all it used to be and more, and my people deserve better than they ever got from the Master."

"I understand, Bard. It must be difficult to look after them, when you never had to think of it before," the Elvenking commented, as they walked.

"Well, no, I did think about them. It was hard not to." Bard said. "But the Master was so self-serving, and he didn't care about those who were sick, or starving, and his men didn't care either."

"So, they were left to starve and succumb to illness?"

"Pretty much. The ones who could take care of themselves, were the ones the Master bothered with. They had money, so, of course he was interested, but the poor and the sick, were beneath his notice; they were a burden. If he wasn't going to get any money from them, they could die in droves for all he cared. To his mind, sickness and starvation were going to kill all the 'right' people."

"But there was not much you could do, to help them, Bard. You had so little, yourself."

"I tried smuggle in supplies and medicines when I could."

"So, it was not difficult to locate such things, or get them in the city." Thranduil speculated.

Bard huffed. "That's not true! It took some doing, let me tell you. But I managed. I even smuggled in some Dwarves as you well know." He smirked at the Elvenking.

"I am aware of that particular event." Thranduil smiled. "So, you smuggled in all those things by yourself, to help your people?"

"No. I had help. Hilda, Percy and some others took over the shipments, as soon as I brought them in, because the Master was always watching me. We had a system, to secretly distribute things, and a way to distract the guards. It was brilliant!" He smiled. "That's how I know those two will be a huge help to get the city on its feet."

"And Percy and Hilda designed this ingenious system, yes?"

"No, they didn't. I did. I mean, they helped, but I thought of who to ask and how it needed to be done. I've been at the wrong end of the Master plenty enough, so I knew all his men, where they'd be and what time of day, and who their friends were. I learned who to trust and who not to."

They walked in silence for a few moments. The air was getting colder, but the sun was shining. During the last two weeks, the streets had been cleared of bodies, and debris, and Dale was smelling much better. Too many of the buildings were still in ruins, but the potential of what it could be was much easier to see. Bard found himself looking around and imagining it full of color and life, and he smiled.

"Now, let us review." Thranduil continued. "You have been taking care of your people for quite some time, so that is not a new burden, is it? You have found sources for food and supplies other than what the old Master had provided, am I correct? You were able to devise a plan, to get them into the town, right under the noses of the Master and his men. You also devised a plan for distributing them, again, under the noses of the Master. I assume weren't got caught, because I doubt you would have been free to smuggle the Dwarves you mentioned earlier, am I correct?"

Bard thought about this, then smirked. He looked over at Thranduil, who was walking with his hands behind his back, his eyebrow raised on that beautiful face, pretending to look innocent.

"Yes?" The Elvenking asked.

Perhaps Bard wasn't as unprepared as he thought, was he? He could be cagey, he could be clever, and he knew how to get around obstacles, without them even knowing it. Maybe he could do this, after all.

Bard shook his head, and laughed. "No one has to worry about you, during these talks. You seem to be an expert at telling people what to think, aren't you?"

"Nonsense. I have not told you anything, Meleth nîn. I merely asked a question or two. If you have reached some sort of conclusion, it is because you already had the answers. Perhaps you needed to be reminded of them."

He laughed some more, then reflected. "I can't believe how different my life is now. But maybe the most important things about it are still the same."

"I agree. I also thought you might need a reminder of just why you are going to be working so hard."

Bard then realized where Thranduil was taking him.

"Hello children! How are you all today?" The Elvenking greeted the group as they entered the tent.

Bronwyn came over to Bard and Thranduil and curtsied. "We're happy to see you, King Bard, King Thranduil. Aren't we children?" She turned back to them. "Now, what do we do when we see our King, boys and girls? Let's show King Bard, and King Thranduil what we've been learning!"

All the children gave polite curtsies and bows. The littlest ones did their best, and the attempts were charming.

"That is very good, children!" Thranduil nodded his head to them. Bard applauded them, and bowed his head, smiling. After they were done, Tilda ran from the group, right past her father and hugged the Elf's knees.

"Well, I can see where I'm not wanted," Bard laughed, as Thranduil picked Tilda up and balanced her on his hip. "So, you love him better than your old Da, now?"

"Do not be silly, King Bard. Tilda is simply giving me her report on the Important Task I have assigned to her. We agreed I would have daily updates, did we not, Lady Tilda?"

Tilda grinned at her Da, and nodded up and down enthusiastically. Then she cupped her hand around her mouth, and whispered some things into the Elvenking's ear, who listened intently, hummed and nodded several times.

"I see. I thank you, Lady Tilda, for this report. You are making satisfactory progress. I shall speak to you tomorrow, yes? Now, you must go back to your friends, but your Da would like some attention, do you not think?" He put her down, then Tilda hopped over to her father for a kiss and scooted back to the others.

Bard and Thranduil watched the children play for a few minutes, then said their goodbyes. As they were making their way back to the Elvenking's tent Bard felt immeasurably better. He knew this would still be a harrowing week with the Dwarves, but he no longer doubted himself. Thranduil helped to remind him, in the best way possible, who he was, and who he was fighting for, and why.

Something else occurred to Bard. Thranduil chose to tell his children the story of the Aulë and the creation of the Dwarves to help him, too. If he understood who they were, where they came from, and why they had the personalities they did, he could have a much better chance of success with them. He looked over at his Elf, trying not to look too besotted with him.

It must not have worked, because Thranduil smiled back and said, "I see you are feeling better. But it might be wise if you did not look like you want to tear my robes off. It would be unseemly to leer at me so, in public; I am a King after all."

"So am I. But you're right. He sighed. "Thank you for taking me to see the children. I do feel better, but I'm still not looking forward to all of this."

"I understand. But keep in mind, Dáin will only be there tomorrow, and the rest of the time, we will be dealing with Balin. He is much more judicious, is he not?"

"You're right. He is. That's good to keep in mind."

"In addition, I have the impression Mithrandir will be telling my Aide and yours about the true identity of the former resident of Dol Guldur. Your comment, about the Necromancer forced the issue."

Bard stopped. "Oh, shit! Thranduil, I'm sorry. I was just so upset. I shouldn't have -"

"Peace, Bard. I think it is a good thing. I believe all parties should be aware of this ahead of the meetings. I am going to urge Mithrandir to see Dáin this evening and inform him. This might put him in a more cooperative mood. Once the Dwarves know the seriousness of what is at stake, much posturing will be eliminated."

"Thank you Thranduil; for everything. None of this would be possible, if you hadn't came to Dale."

"Nonsense. I merely came Dale to get my heirlooms back." Thranduil said with a small smile on his face.

"And, as I said before, I don't believe you." Bard smiled back.

They were silent for a moment, then Bard told him, "I really hope you get them."

"I hope so, too." Thranduil looked thoughtful. "My reasons now for wanting them are different than when I first came. I am glad of it."

"Is it because of me?"

"Not as much as you might believe, which is a good thing."

"Why is that?" Bard was curious.

"I have started to face memories of her now. It is still difficult, but I think it will become easier, with time. When I was confronted on the day of the Battle, those were terrible moments for me. Strangely enough, I believe those confrontations gave me the impetus to change my thoughts and actions."

"The Valar inspire us in ways we sometimes never expect, you like to tell me." Bard reminded him.

"I did say that. I struggle to not be angry with myself about it, because what would be the point? I think I had to wait for the right time."

"Why now, do you think?"

"Perhaps the Valar was waiting for a certain Bowman to slay a Dragon. Or maybe I had to wait until Mirelen was sent to Valinor, after her time in Mandos' Halls was ended. Regardless, now that I have been released from our bond, it is a strange, but good feeling. In losing her, I have her back again." Thranduil smiled. "It does not sound logical, I know, but it feels true, nonetheless."

"It makes perfect sense, Thranduil, it really does. You don't have to run from your memories, anymore."

They both smiled. Then Bard told Thranduil, "You know, even if you are with me, you might still have days when you miss her. It's still going to hurt, now and again."

Thranduil stopped and looked at him. "Why do you say this?"

"Because, I think we both will. Sigrid is the picture of her mother, and I'll always love that about her, but it still hurts to see once in a while. She'll do or say something that makes me see Mattie, and it's hard. Tilda makes me think of her too; when she learns something new, Mattie isn't there to see it. If I see a flower or a pretty sunset, I think of how she loved them.

"Even though you and I are together, we'll have moments, but that's all right Thranduil. The memory of wives aren't a measure of what you and I have or don't have. They'll remind us how blessed we were to have them in our lives. As long as we can talk about it, we'll be fine. In fact, I'd like to know more about your wife, whenever you're ready."

"Thank you, _Meleth nîn._ I would like to do that, sometime."

They continued to the Elvenking's tent, and finished their preparations.

This evening's dinner was as pleasant as before, with the children and their chatter, as Thranduil smiled, over their heads, at Bard. Tauriel seemed to be enjoying herself, too. He was watching her with the children, seeing her fondness for them, and he was pleased at their natural rapport. It was a good decision to make sure she would be around children, but even better now, because these children would soon be siblings!

Bard was right. Now that Tauriel was no longer his subject, perhaps this made it easier to gently cultivate their relationship. Tauriel would need his support, to help her move on from Kili. He and Bard made sure she attended these family dinners as with the children, to help them grow into a family.

Thranduil couldn't deny the awkwardness between them; she was used to dealing with the inaccessible King as a child, then an icy, haughty Commander as an adult. It was useless to think of what could have been, but how could he not to berate himself? Galion and her caregivers had made sure she had known plenty of love and affection, but how does that make up for what she had sought from him? He felt blessed and excited at having the chance to experience some of the joys of genuine parenting with Bard's children, but how to make it up to an elleth who lost her parents, lost a childhood with a man who should have been a real father to her? Even so, nothing would prevent him from trying to be a father to her in whatever way she was ready for, now. It was all he could do, and he wanted to, with all his heart.

This evening was also an important milestone for little Tilda, although it didn't start out that way.

When Tauriel brought them into his tent for dinner, earlier, there were all the usual greetings, of course. Then Tilda crawled into his lap, scaring him practically to death, as she proudly showed him her brand-new, gap-toothed smile. Thranduil gasped and his eyes opened wide in alarm.

" _AI, TILDA! MAN SE, HÊNIG!"_ He cried, his heart leaping into his throat. _"Tíro nin, Tithen pen!"_ He tilted her head up so he could get a better look. "Nae! Have you seen this Bard? What in Arda has happened to her?"

Even Galion came hurrying over, wanting to see what was wrong, gasped, and began to speak rapidly in Sindarin, as they both looked down at the little girl, concerned.

"Tilda has suffered an injury, Bard! Did someone hurt her?" Thranduil asked Tauriel, then turned back to the little girl, "Did someone hurt you?"

His apprehension was met with giggles, mostly from the child on his lap.

Bard got up from his chair and went over to Tilda, and put his fingers on her chin. "Open up, love. Let Da see what all this is about." He examined her teeth. "Aye, I see the trouble now. I didn't even know it was loose. Good for you, Little Bean!"

Thranduil stared at him open-mouthed. "What is this?" he demanded. "What is going on?"

"It's nothing to worry about, Thranduil. Tilda lost a baby tooth, that's all."

"Baby tooth? They have baby teeth?"

"They have baby teeth." Bard informed him.

The Elvenking kept staring at Tilda, still not convinced she was fine. "Is she going to be all right?"

Bard, smiled and sat back down. "All children her age, start to lose their baby teeth. Her mouth is getting bigger, and she is making room for her grownup teeth. Don't worry, soon Tilda will have a whole new smile, right love?" He grinned at Tilda, still seated on the Elf's lap.

"They will all fall out? All of them?" Thranduil asked, weakly, and Galion didn't look much better.

"Yeth! And the other front tooth is looth too!" Tilda lisped proudly.

"It doesn't hurt you?"

She shook her head. "No. Well, maybe a teeny bit, but when I lotht my bottom two teeth, it didn't hurt at all."

Thranduil looked from Bard to Tilda, skeptical, then back to Bard, who snickered, then started to laugh. "I do not understand what is so funny! How am I to know about human children?"

"I thcared you!" The child in question pointed at him, and giggled in glee, hugging Charlotte, who was sporting her blue dress today, with matching shoes.

All the rest started to snicker, as Bain nudged Sigrid. "I told you he'd have a fit."

Even Tauriel was holding her hand in front of her mouth, smiling. Thranduil looked desperately over at Galion, hoping at least he would approach all this with some sense. His Aide was looking like he was chewing the inside of his cheek.

Bard wasn't even trying to control himself. "I'm sorry, Thranduil." He wiped one of his eyes. "I'm sorry, but you should've seen your face…" and grabbed his middle, laughing in earnest.

Thranduil gave his lover haughty look, complete with an eyebrow raised almost to his hairline.

Sigrid took pity on him first, and went over to his chair and put her arm around his shoulders, protectively. "Now, stop picking on poor Thranduil!" She turned to him and kissed him on the cheek. "Don't feel bad. Tauriel wasn't exactly calm when it first came out. It took Bronwyn ten minutes to convince her no one had hit her. This one bled a lot more than the others." Sigrid said. "And aren't we all glad Da wasn't around for that part?" She looked pointedly at her father, smirking with an air of superiority.

An evil grin spread across Bard's face. "Oh, tease your old man, would you? It seems to me, I recall a certain little girl with a loose tooth—"

"Da-aaaa!" Sigrid gasped. "You wouldn't!"

"I would, and I will, and you started it." He smiled at his oldest and stuck his tongue out at her. "Now that we've convinced the Elvenking that Tilda is in no imminent danger, why don't we ask him to stand down his armies, so we can eat?" suggested Bard, with a sly grin. "Then I have a story for you, about when Sigrid lost a tooth, how about it? Sigrid and Bain, would you help Galion fetch our dinner? And you, Beanie, can help set the table, all right?"

"Bard, they do not have to…"

Bard held up his hand. "This is what they have done all their lives, and just because they're Royalty now doesn't excuse them from helping."

Thranduil smiled at Bard, as Tilda climbed down from his lap, handing Charlotte to him for safekeeping, and went over to Galion, taking his hand as they all left to fetch their dinner.

Bard took pity on him, and tried to take Charlotte from Thranduil's lap, but he refused. "Tilda gave her to me to watch, and here she shall remain." He said proudly.

Bard laughed at him. "I think I'll take Tilda to Erebor with me. There'd be no need for talks, and I'd come home with half treasure in the mountain! All she'd have to do is look at King Dain with that face of hers, pout a little, and that would be that."

Thranduil smiled. "Of this, I have no doubt." To Tauriel, he said, "Come, sit down, please. How is Bain's training coming along?"

"He is very eager, My Lord, and has been practicing faithfully." She said, taking a chair.

"Tauriel, we are having a family dinner, so no titles in private, please." Bard said.

"But -" She looked from Bard back to Thranduil, who smiled at her, and nodded.

"Did Bard not say you were family?" he asked her.

"Yes, My… Yes." She agreed, bemused.

"You are Bard's subject now, which means you are no longer under my authority. You must do as he says." Thranduil said in a light tone, with a small smile.

"Actually, Tauriel, we wanted to get you alone, because we need to ask you something." Bard said. "Once the talks with the Dwarves are finished, Thranduil will be going to his Kingdom for several days, and I'm going with him. While I'm gone, I'll need you to stay with the children."

"Of course, I will; it would be a pleasure."

"There isn't anyone I trust more to look out for them." Bard smiled. "There's something else, too. Something personal we'd like to ask you, if you would…" he looked at Thranduil, who turned to her.

"Tauriel, the morning before we leave, we have asked Mithrandir to come to my tent to marry Bard and myself according to the customs of Men, then have a luncheon with our families as a small, private feast. Lord Percy and Lady Hilda will be there, along with Bard's children. Commander Feren and Galion will also attend as guests. I would be honored if you would join us as part of my family, as well." He put his hand on hers, and gave it a small squeeze.

Tauriel, overwhelmed, smiled shyly, and nodded.

"Wonderful! That's settled, then." Bard said cheerily. "We're keeping this a secret, because this is about us, not two Kingdoms. No pomp and ceremony, no hullabaloo. The children don't know yet, but we'll tell them in the next day or two, so please don't say anything. We're counting on them to spread the word after we leave." He looked at Thranduil and smiled, then he turned back to Tauriel. "We just want family, of which you are definitely a member." He finished his sentence in time for the others to appear with their meal. "Ah! Here we are. Let's eat, shall we?"

As they were eating dinner, Bard was telling them all about the time Sigrid was Tilda's age, with a loose tooth. She had gone with a little friend to play, and came home with a black eye. "A right shiner it was. Your mother was having kittens, she was so mad. She wanted to march right down to— what was her name, Sigrid?"

Covered her face. "Astrid, Da. Her name was Astrid, and you _really_ don't need to tell this story."

"Sure, I do. Your sister needs cheering up. She just lost a tooth, after all."

"I don't need cheering up, Da! Thith means I'm growing up!" Tilda protested.

"I guess I need cheering up." He pouted at his youngest. "You promised me you'd always stay little."

"I did not!" Tilda objected.

"My mistake. Anyway, Mattie was ready to march down to see Astrid's mother and give her a shout, when Sigrid stopped her and said…"

"Da, please…" Sigrid begged, "I'll do anything..."

"But, I wanna hear what happened!" Tilda cried.

"I would like to hear as well. Why would a little girl do such a thing to our Sigrid?" asked Thranduil.

"Sigrid asked her to." Her Da said smugly.

Now Sigrid had both her hands over her face.

"Surely not!" said the Elvenking.

"Thurely not!" Tilda echoed.

The storyteller had to pause, because Tauriel was choking on her wine, and Tilda had to thump her on her back.

"You gonna live, over there?" Bard asked her.

Tauriel nodded her head, still coughing.

"You were saying?" Thranduil raised an eyebrow.

"Where was I? To answer your question, Little Bean, your sister 'thurely' did. Mattie asked her, 'Why in Ulmo's name you would want to get punched in the eye?'"

"Why would Sigrid want such a thing?" Thranduil was completely confused.

"Well, I'll tell you: Our girl put her hands on her hips, grumpy-like, and said, 'I wanted this tooth to come out, so I told Astrid to punch me really, really hard in the mouth, and she missed and hit my eye, instead!' then Sigrid stomped off, madder than a wet hen, and pouted, for hours."

Everybody was laughing, by then. Tauriel's eyes were scrunched shut, and she was holding her hand over her mouth, and Galion didn't bother attempting to keep a straight face. Even Sigrid, embarrassed as she was, joined in the merriment.

"Thrandool? Don't Elveth have baby teeth?" Tilda asked.

"No, _Tithen pen_. That is why I was so frightened. I thought maybe someone a hit you in the mouth." He smiled down at her, and booped her nose.

"When doeth a baby Elf be a big Elf?"

"When Legolas and Tauriel looked to be your age, they were about twenty years old, in your years. They were like Sigrid when they were about seventy. We don't consider an Elven child to be an adult until they are one hundred years old."

"Wow." Bain breathed.

"They grow much more slowly compared with us, so maybe their teeth don't fall out, because they grow like our bones do." Sigrid said. "That's interesting."

"It is fascinating to consider how Elves develop, compared to humans, is it not?" Thranduil asked her.

"I've got a lot to learn, then, don't I?"

"Yes, you do, _hênig_ , but I am confident you will. All you children will have to work hard and learn much, in order to serve your Kingdom well. But I have no doubt you will excel. Tauriel worked hard to learn and train, and she served the Woodland Realm with excellence for many years. I am proud of her."

Thranduil smiled at his foster-daughter, who blushed, awkwardly.

"Tauriel, what were you like when you were little?"

"I would be happy to tell you about that, Tithen pen." Thranduil said, glancing at Tauriel before he addressed Tilda. He looked over at Galion, who had a grin on his face. "Galion and I, as well as most of the Palace could tell you, she was lovely child, and very endearing."

"You knew her when she was little?" Tilda looked between Galion and Thranduil, curiously.

"We did. You see, Tauriel grew up in my Halls, in the Royal Apartments. She came to us when she was still a baby, although she could walk and say a few words."

"A toddler, then." Bard said.

"I'll bet she was cute," said Sigrid.

Thranduil chuckled. He could feel Tauriel's surprised look, rather than see it. Gently, Bard said…

"She was a beautiful child. Her hair was lighter then and very curly. She was mischievous, and into everything. When Legolas was that age, he liked to run everywhere as fast as he could, and we spent much of our time chasing after him. Tauriel was more interested in getting into things. Galion used to ask me if we were sure she only had ten fingers, as it seemed to him she had twice as many! We used to call her _Gwinïg_."

"What does that mean?" Bain asked.

Thranduil laughed softly. " _Gwinïg_ means 'Little Fingers.'" An appropriate name, do you not think, Galion?"

"Most appropriate." Galion laughed, grinning down at Tauriel.

Tauriel blushed, and smiled down her plate.

"Did Tauriel ever get into trouble, like Thigrid did?" Tilda asked.

"Tilda! I didn't get into trouble, I just wanted my tooth out!" Sigrid said. "It wasn't my fault Astrid missed!"

Tilda rolled her eyes, unimpressed.

"Galion deserves most of the credit for how well Tauriel grew up, Tilda." Thranduil looked at his Chief Aide, not in sadness and regret, but with admiration and gratitude. "I think you will find, there was no one in my Realm who knows our little Gwinïg, better."

"Yes, Tilda, Tauriel got into mischief, many times." Galion told her. "Once when she was smaller than you were, she went into my study and got into the inkpots on my desk, spilling it all over some important trade agreements. It took Lord Thranduil and I all night to rewrite them in time for the meetings the next day."

A wave of delighted horror swept through the children, and they looked at Tauriel in a whole new light. Clearly, they were impressed; especially Bain. Tauriel looked a combination of embarrassed and flattered at being the center of attention.

"I'll bet you were really mad," Tilda predicted.

"I was not pleased at all." Thranduil said. "But she was too young to understand what she had done. She had always been a curious child, and asked questions about everything she saw. After Galion discovered the state of his desk, I went into her room, to find her sleeping with ink all over her hands and her clothes, and smudges all over her sheets and blankets."

"What did you do?"

Thranduil shook his head at Tilda. "Nothing. Her little face looked like she had cried herself to sleep, and I could see she felt bad about what she had done. I let her sleep, and then ordered Galion to have locks put on the doors and cupboards to keep her out of things until she got older. It took a while for all the ink to fade from her skin. I was very glad she did not get ink in her hair, because I did not want to see all those lovely curls cut off."

"My desk still has the spots from the ink." Galion smiled proudly. "Lord Thranduil offered to replace it, but I rather liked how Gwinïg decorated it." He smiled at Tauriel fondly.

"That's too funny," giggled Sigrid.

Bard gave Thranduil a wink. "I'll bet Thranduil got into his share of trouble, and I'm sure Galion has a few stories to tell. What do you think kids, shall we ask him?"

Despite Thranduil's objections, Galion was only too happy to share a story or two to prove the Elvenking had hardly been a well-behaved Elven Prince. Everyone listened eagerly. Especially Tauriel.

Thranduil decided the embarrassment was worth it, as he watched her face. She was genuinely having a good time, and this made him happy. He looked at his Bard, and sent up a silent prayer of thanks, for bringing this man into his life.

 **Ruins of Dale; 8th of December, 2941 T.A.**

The first day of talks at Erebor was long and exhausting. When they finally got back to Dale, Bard and Thranduil stopped at the Elvenking's tent for a short time, holding each other, and exchanging a few kisses and caresses, but Bard was exhausted, and didn't want to stay.

"I'm sorry, love." He told Thranduil, as he snuggled into his Elf's neck. "I'm so tired, and I haven't seen the children all day. We didn't even get to have dinner with them."

"I, too, am fatigued." Thranduil kissed him again. "Go and get some rest. Today went well, but we are only at the beginning. Please tell the children good night for me."

"They'll probably be asleep, already. It's so late."

"Could you bring them with you in the morning? We could have breakfast together. I do not want miss them entirely, like we did today."

"Aye. I'll do that, then. Good night, and I love you."

"Gi melin, Bard." They kissed once more, and he left for his tent.

Several minutes later, Bard fell into his bed, and had no trouble falling asleep, for once. After a time, he woke up to a terrible wailing sound…

Tilda was screaming.

Bard shot up into a sitting position, clambered out of bed, and went to the cot his youngest was sleeping in. "Tilda, wake up, darling. Come on now, wake up."

He pulled her into a sitting position, and she was still crying, sobbing so hard she couldn't catch her breath; she'd knocked the wind out of herself.

Tilda did this when really upset. He took her head in his hands and blew into her face, with hard short breaths, to startle her into inhaling. It worked, and she then let out an even louder howl. He gathered her into his arms. "Shh, Shh…there now, Little Bean, wake up. Da's here, and you're safe now." She was still crying, but she slowly became aware of her surroundings. He kissed her hair and rocked her a little bit. "Are you awake, now?" he asked as he stroked her hair. She nodded her head, but she still cried. He rubbed his hand up and down her back, making shushing noises, trying to soothe her fright.

Sigrid sat up. "Is she all right, Da?"

"Aye, she'll be fine. Go back to sleep, now." He told her.

Before she did, Sigrid got up and brought Bard a washcloth and some water. He wiped Tilda's face, blew her nose, and persuaded her to drink a little bit. Then she started to calm down, still wrapped up in his arms.

"I had a bad dream." She sniffled and rubbed her eyes.

"You sure did, Beanie. Can you tell me what it was about? You'll feel better if you can talk about it."

"She spoke to him in a wobbly voice, between hiccups. "W-we were thupposed to go in the Great Hall, and you went away, and the Trolls found uth." She sobbed. "I kept yelling your name and looking f-for you, but you didn't come! I wath afraid you were d-dead." She sniffed.

"Well, I'm glad you woke up." He said soothingly. "I'm right here, and you're all right now, yeah?" He still stroked her hair. "You're safe, and in your Da's arms, right?" He felt her head nod up and down. "I'm sorry you were scared, darling. Do you want some more water?"

"Maybe a little." She took another drink, and handed it to him, and he set it on the small table in between their beds. "Can I thtay with you, Da? I'm afraid to go back to thleep."

"Sure, you can. Do you need to visit the necessary?" She shook her head no. "Come on then." He picked her up and they went to his cot and snuggled together. "Are you warm enough?" She nodded her head again. "Good. Now, let's try to get some sleep, shall we?"

They lay there for a few minutes, settling in. "Da?"

"What is it, Beanie?"

"Do you like King Thrandool a really lot?"

"I do. Do you like him a really lot?" Bard asked her.

"Uh huh."

"Why do you ask that?" He rubbed her back to help her fall asleep.

"Becauth, I he liketh you a really lot, too."

He smiled in the darkness. "How can you tell?"

"He lookth at you the way Uncle Perthy lookth at Auntie Hil." She yawned. "It's really nithe," she mumbled, as he smiled and kissed her brow. Soon, her breathing became regular and she was asleep again.

Bard smiled in the darkness until he, too, fell asleep.

 **ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:**

 _Ai, Tilda!_ – Oh, Tilda!

 _Man se, hênig!_ – What is this, my child?

 _Tíro nin, tithen pen. Nae!_ – Look at me, little one. Alas!

 _Tithen pen_ – Little one

 _Hênig_ – My child

 _Gwinïg_ – "little fingers."

 **NOTES:**

\- Tilda's little lisp is adorable to hear, but it's murder to write, so this is the only chapter that you'll have to struggle through reading it, I promise.

\- Many years ago, a certain little girl actually did ask her friend to punch her, to knock her tooth out, and came home with a black eye. Thanks D, for giving me such a great story.


	19. Chapter 19

**Ruins of Dale; 14th of December, 2941 T.A.**

Thranduil rolled over, and threw his arm over Bard, tangled their legs together and drowsed. Bard felt so warm; it was hard not to be drawn to it. He nuzzled into Bard's neck, sighed and drifted back to sleep…

"My Lord? I am sorry to disturb you, but you must get up."

"Grmmfh..," Thranduil answered, not moving. He would have stayed where he was, but Bard had stirred beneath him, taking his arm from around him and stretched, yawning. Over Thranduil's vocal objections, Bard began to sit up, and rub his eyes.

"Come on, love. We've got to get going if we're going to make it to Erebor on time." Bard was shaking his shoulders. Thranduil, who always groggy in the morning, protested, groaning, and tried to snuggle down again. He heard Bard's laugh, "It'll take forever to comb out all that hair."

At this, Thranduil finally opened his eyes and raised his head. "It does not take that long to comb out my hair!"

"Oh, really? Suppose you take a gander in your looking glass, and you'll see what I mean. It's a rat's nest; it's all over the place." Bard challenged, with an eyebrow raised. "If you weren't so pretty, you'd be scary."

Muttering, he dragged himself up and went over to his wardrobe to look into his mirror. "What is the meaning of this? My hair looks fine!" He gave Bard a sleepy, nasty look.

"But you got your lazy arse out of bed, didn't you?" Said Bard, smirking.

"What if I told you your hair looked like a black Warg's, O King?" He countered.

"I'd have no trouble believing you." The Warg in question replied. "Now, come on, we've got to wash and dress, love." Throwing back the covers, he sat up, facing away from him, and stretched his arms wide, the muscles of his arms and back rippling.

Thranduil looked him up and down, appreciatively. There was nothing about Bard's body he didn't love. Where Thranduil was light and lean, Bard was dark and muscular. He loved Bard's black hair when it was untamed, surrounding his features, and those warm, inviting eyes.

Last night would have been impossible to get through if he hadn't been surrounded by Bard's strong arms. Bard didn't make him feel like he had to hide his sadness over losing his wife, to spare his feelings. What a gift it was to freely celebrate the wonderful things about their lives before, and look forward to making new memories together? Thranduil sent up a silent prayer of thanks to Mírelen for allowing him to keep her memory alive. The pain was there, but at this point it was bearable, and, with Bard's acceptance and support, it will get easier.

"My Lord?" Galion appeared at the entrance of the sleeping chamber.

"What is it,?"

"Lord Bard's children request permission to break their fast with you before you leave."

Thranduil and Bard looked at each other, panicking. Ignoring Galion's protests to wait a moment, Bard jumped off the bed and scrambled to get at his clothes, and stubbed his toe on the corner of the trunk.

"Bloody fuck!" Screeching loudly, he began to hop around, awkwardly.

Galion checked his toe. "It is not broken, My Lord. According to the message I just received, the children are washing and dressing now, and should be here in a quarter of an hour. Please, do not rush to the point of hurting yourself, My Lord."

"Now, you tell me." Bard said ruefully. "I only have yesterday's clothes; I'll have to head back to my tent before we go to the mountain, Thranduil."

Galion cleared his throat. "Pardon me for taking the liberty, but I have asked that some be brought to you. Lady Hilda and Lord Percy will also be joining us, and she is bringing them."

" _They what?"_ Bard gasped. " _Oh, shit! Hilda knows I stayed here last night!"_ He looked at Thranduil in alarm. " She'll kill me! She'll kill us both!"

Thranduil assured Galion they would be ready, and the Aide went out to arrange the table. He turned back to his soon-to-be husband. "Really, Bard, it isn't as if Percy and Hilda do not know we are together."

"I know, but, you're used to Elves, not Men. We – well, not me – but some of us don't much are if wedding's taken place, and we haven't even told them we're getting married, yet!"

"But— _Ohhhh…"_

"Exactly. You _should_ be worried, love. It wasn't my cock she threatened to cut off, was it?"

"Bard, you forget; I am surrounded by armed guards."

"Do you seriously think that would stop her?"

Thranduil considered. "Perhaps not."

After washing and dressing, Bard tried to tame his hair, until Thranduil couldn't stand it anymore, grabbed the brush and ordered him to sit. With painstaking care, he removed all the knots and tangles, and secured the front and sides into Bard's customary half-ponytail. Once he was done, his hair still looked thick and glorious, but it had been coaxed into gentle waves that caressed his shoulders.

"Thanks, love."

Thranduil smiled and kissed the top of his head. "I see this breakfast as the perfect opportunity to announce our intent to marry in three days' time, and invite them. Perhaps, if I were to make, as they say, and 'honest man' out of you, my nether regions will be safe from Lady Hilda's knife?"

"That may well be, but they are bound to say something. Be prepared."

Thranduil said dismissively. "I am sure it will be nothing I cannot handle."

"We'll see." Bard kissed him on the cheek. "Don't say I didn't warn you." And, dressed, Bard went out to greet his children who were just coming in, with Thranduil right behind him.

Percy and Hilda, came after Tauriel and children arrived, thank the Valar, which avoided any confrontations. But he made a point to take Hilda aside.

"Lady Hilda," he said, " want you to know that Elves do not engage in relations outside of marriage, so please do not think Bard and I were imprudent. I had received something from the Dwarves that, at one time, belonged to my late wife. It caused great distress, and Bard did not wish me to be alone."

Hilda scrutinized his face. "Are you all right?"

"It brought back some traumatic memories, but Bard helped me get through it."

Hilda's face softened. "All right then. But you two need to keep in mind that Bard's a new King, and our folk like their gossip. I'm not going to allow anything to undermine our boy." She put her hand on his arm. "I understand, but don't make a habit of it." She got her message across with a loving smile, but with firm eyes.

He kissed Hilda's hand. "I admire you for wanting to protect him. You are an important part of Bard's family, and your approval means a great deal to me." He smiled at her, and told him, sincerely. "I love him very much, My Lady."

"Aye, well. Normally I'd want him to take some time to court properly, but what about all this is normal? If you two can find love in all this, then it will give our folk something to hope for, yeah?"

"Thank you. You're blessing means a great deal to me."

She cleared her throat. "Now, let's get some breakfast, so you two can be off, straightaway."

They dug into their food that was set before them, and told Thranduil and Bard what they've been missing in the camp all week. The children were excited about their trip to the Lonely Mountain, later that day.

Thranduil was tired from last night, but grateful. He hadn't anticipated those horrible flashbacks, but he hadn't been alone, thanks to his Bowman, who helped him through it. Bard gave Thranduil exactly he needed. He listened, and didn't try to "fix it." Bard didn't judge Thranduil's feelings, or try to change them. How many people know to do that? It had been so difficult to talk about his wife's death, and if Bard had done any of those things, it would have stifled him, and shut him down.

What a joy to wake up in his Bowman's arms! Life can shock and scar a person at a moment's notice, but it can also bring surprises of joy and light. Just two months ago, he'd been alone, and unhappy, and here he was, surrounded by his new family.

It was time to make the announcement.

Thranduil looked around the table, smiling at all their faces, his gaze resting lastly on the King of Dale. He nodded to Bard, who winked at him, then stood up from the table and cleared his throat.

"Thranduil and I are glad you're here, because there's something we'd like to tell you."

The Elf steepled his hands together against his mouth, to distract from the butterflies in his stomach. What if the children objected?

"As you've noticed, children, we've been spending a lot of time with Thranduil, haven't we?" Bain and Sigrid nodded their heads in agreement. Percy and Hilda looked expectant, but not surprised. Tilda was just curious.

"I like him a lot. He fixed Charlotte."

"He sure did, Beanie. If we tell you all something, do you think you can keep it a secret? It's important that you not say anything until it's all over, all right?" Everyone nodded. "Promise?" They nodded again.

"That's good, because three days hence, we're all coming here for a special luncheon. Gandalf will be here, too, and he'll be marrying us. Then we'll all be a family! What do you think?"

The adults said nothing, as they waited for the children to react.

Said children froze for a moment or two, and then exploded with noise. Sigrid jumped up and kissed and hugged her Da. Bain grinned at Thranduil. "I KNEW IT!" he cried.

Thranduil smiled back at him, as Tilda got down from her chair and went over to the Elvenking. "Does this mean you'll be my Da, too?"

"I think it does, _Tithen Pen;_ is that all right with you?" he smiled down at her.

She looked at him for a couple of seconds, thinking carefully. "Do you love my Da?"

"Very much. I care about you, too."

"Could I get my own Elk?"

Thranduil laughed, and kissed her forehead. "Not for a while, I am afraid. I have several, but they are still growing, and in the midst of their schooling, just like you." He booped her nose. She reached up to hug him, then went over to her Da, who picked her up.

Percy, who was sitting on his left, eyed him, not frowning, but not smiling, either. He raised his teacup to Thranduil. "Congratulations, son," he grinned. After Percy and Thranduil clinked cups, each took a long pull at their tea.

Hilda pursed her lips, looked at Thranduil and raised her eyebrow. Pointing at him with her thumb, she asked Bard, "Did you get him pregnant?"

…and the great Elvenking spit his tea out all over, his clothes, the table, and would have gotten Percy, too, if he hadn't ducked away at the last minute.

Once the meal was over, they changed their clothes, and made their way to Erebor. They both were lost in thought, as they rode side by side, but it was a comfortable silence.

"I am glad the children are happy with our news, Meleth nîn."

"Oh, I knew they would be. They all like you, Tilda especially. She loves you."

"And I her. She asked for her own Elk, did you hear? I do have one..."

"Thranduil, my daughter is not going to ride one of those things, and that's final."

"Whyever not? They would never let her fall."

"No."

"But they are perfectly safe…"

"Safe? I watched you on your Elk - he was terrifying!"

"He was supposed to be terrifying, Bard. It was what he was trained for. That did not mean he was a nasty, uncontrollable animal. In fact, he was quite gentle, when not in combat…"

"No."

"But, Bard…"

"Stop whining. I'm sure you'll find dozens of ways to spoil my children, but my daughter will not ride on a War-Beast."

"But he would protect her!"

"Protect her? As in, protect her in a _battle_? My baby will never be in a battle! Not if there's a breath in my body, she won't."

Thranduil tabled the argument. For now, at least. "I cannot say I blame you for feeling that way. The months after Legolas went out on Patrol, I nearly paced a groove in the floor of my chambers. Poor Feren; I demanded daily updates as to his safety and whereabouts. I couldn't stop myself."

"I'll bet he hated that."

"It did not last long. Galion was not pleased."

"What happened?"

"He insisted it was not fair for Legolas to be singled out in such a way. He also reminded me how much I hated it, when my father did the same thing. Galion was right to point out that it was disrespectful to Feren. He is Commander and responsible for _everyone's_ safety, not just my son's. Out in the forest, it is dangerous to be distracted by nepotism; I had to rely on my faith in both of them.

"Feren complained to Galion?"

"I never asked. Once Galion and I spoke, I apologized to Feren, regardless. He is an excellent Commander, and would never advance Legolas in the rankings, unless he earned it. I had no right to doubt him, Bard. He has been faithful to our kingdom since we were children together."

"I don't think it's a matter of your faith in Feren. You were just a parent, afraid for his child. Go easy on yourself, love."

"That may be true,. butI compromised discipline for personal reasons, and there is no excuse for that. Someone could have gotten killed."

"Good point. I'll be facing that when Bain starts his service, and I'm dreading it."

"It will be worse when your son faces actual battle, so prepare yourself, _Meleth nîn._ You will have to learn how to focus, otherwise someone could be killed, from the distraction. It is not easy."

"Feren's a good friend to you, Thranduil."

"He is, and so is Galion. He's been like a father to me, since I lost my own. I rely on his support and guidance more than I can say. I am glad they both will be there, when Mithrandir gives us our blessing."

"I know how the kids and Percy and Hilda feel about me marrying you, and Galion seems supportive, but what does Feren say?"

"Last week, when I told him of our marriage plans, he objected, strongly."

Bard looked over at him, startled. "He did? Why?"

"His first thought was for our Kingdom, as it should be. He assumed I would give up my Mortality and leave them leaderless, which would make the Kingdom unstable. I hastily explained the entirety of our situation, and told him about Mírelen, and the Valar's help."

"Did he believe you? I mean, I know you wouldn't lie, but it's a lot to take in." Bard grinned. "Did he faint?"

Thranduil laughed. "He did not, but he was surprised, and needed a few moments for it all to sink in. Then he was happy for me."

"You said he was there with you, when Mírelen died. He must have been glad to hear all of that."

"Feren knew how I suffered from her loss, and he struggled with guilt from her death. He was beside me, and he took Legolas when-" Thranduil swallowed, and sighed. Then he changed his line of thinking. "I have asked Feren to stand with me, when we marry; he will keep your ring during the ceremony, and Galion will present my cord for the hand-fasting. Feren brought the one he used at his wedding, as is our custom."

Bard smiled at him. "We do the same thing. Unfortunately Percy and Hilda's went down in flames. I had both mine and Mattie's parents, but they're gone, too. I asked Percy to keep your ring, and Hilda will do the cord. She was headed over to the seamstresses, when we left.

"I am glad they approve," he smiled. A thought occurred to Thranduil. "Bard? Do you think they set me up with the tea, this morning?"

Bard rolled his eyes and laughed. "I _know_ they did!"

The signing of the trade agreements went smoothly. Only minor changes in wording had to be made, in all three languages. Finally, they were read out loud in their entirety, in Westron, Sindarin, and Khuzdul. The three Kings signed each copy, and after closing remarks, celebrated with a lunch, where the wine and ale flowed freely.

King Thranduil supplied the Dwarves with the food to be served for the feast tonight, as a gesture of thanks for his necklace. He also gave them a wagonload of hops, barley, and yeast, so they could brew ale for the winter, which was accepted gratefully.

King Dáin, to commemorate the reuniting of the Kingdoms, had three livery collars made. They were made of gold, linking the insignias of Erebor, the Woodland realm, and Dale, alternating with emeralds to symbolize the Thranduil's Kingdom of trees, sapphires to symbolize Dale and Esgaroth, and garnets to symbolize the forges of Erebor. The pendant on each necklace reflected the royal seal of the King for which it was intended. They were beautiful, and were going to be worn on the shoulders of the Kings at the feast this evening.

Now it was time to wait, for the other guests were expected to arrive soon.

The caravan approached the Lonely Mountain, surrounded by an Elven escort. Bard could see Tilda, riding in front of Tauriel on her stallion, _Hûrnest_. Percy and Hilda were perched on the seats of the carts bringing the supplies for the feast. Sigrid was still a bit uncomfortable in a saddle, but Bain seemed a natural. Horses were simply not something the residents of Dale had ever used, so this was a new skill Dale would have to learn for their new lives, as farmers and craftsman.

As soon as the children saw their Da, they smiled and waved. Bain got excited, and started to spur his horse forward, but Tauriel sharply reprimanded him to stay with his escort. _Excellent_ , Bard thought. Tauriel was training him to respect and listen to his guards. Bain obviously realized his mistake, and quickly get back in to formation.

Thranduil had been right; that boy will be a better King than his Da. There will be no "catch-ups" for him, and he'll be ready for the day when Bard retires to live his life in the Woodland Realm with his husband.

Soon, they were across the bridge before the Gates of Erebor, and Tilda was being lifted down and into her Da's arms. As the others were dismounting and leading the horses away, she gave him a big hug and kiss, and asked, "Where's Thrandool?"

Bard made a pouty face at her. "You sick of me already? Your old Da's not your favorite, anymore?"

"You're silly!" she lisped, and rolled her eyes. "Of course, I love you, Da. But where is he?"

"He's inside, talking with somebody or other. Were you a good girl today? How's that other front tooth coming?"

"It's a little bit looser. Maybe it'll come out while I'm here."

"Maybe it will."

"OOH! Guess what? Bofur gave me a gold coin for my tooth! He said Mahal told him I lost a tooth, and he sent Bofur to give me one! All the Dwarf kids get them, when their teeth fall out, and Mahal said us kids should, too!" She grinned.

"Wasn't that nice of him! I hope the other children don't start knocking their own teeth out, just to get some gold…" He winked at her.

"Don't worry, Da." Sigrid came up to them, smiling. "Bofur found some sort of excuse to give all the kids one. No one was left out."

"Good!" he kissed her cheek. "Well, we'd best get inside, then. Don't you have to give King Thranduil a progress report, Little Bean?"

Tilda nodded seriously.

"Well, we'd best find him." Then he whispered, "Remember, don't say anything about us getting married, all right? You didn't say anything to anyone today, right?"

She pinched her lips together, and shook her head. Bard grinned at her. "That's my girl."

Bard carried her into Erebor, and enjoyed the gasps of all the children. Bain was fascinated by the high ceilings, and pointed to all the angular designs in the architecture. Sigrid just craned her neck in every direction, her jaw slack. The Dwarves had been busy; even since the funeral, some major repairs had been done. Percy and Hilda were pointing and commenting on the changes, since they were here last.

Bofur came over to them, smiling. "Welcome! How do you like our home?" He asked the children. He was to be ambassador to their family during their stay.

Sigrid said, "I can't believe how beautiful this is! I've looked at this mountain my whole life, and I never imagined such things!"

Bofur was pleased at her assessment. "I'm glad you like it, Lady Sigrid. As soon as Tauriel arrives, I'd be honored to show you to your rooms."

Bard thanked the Dwarf for Mahal's generosity toward the children. "Aye, that. We always tell them to put the tooth under their pillow that night and they'll find their coin in the morning."

"I like it. Maybe we'll start that same tradition, as part of Dale's new culture."

Their rooms were lovely. There was a central meeting area, and three doors leading to bedrooms, and one door opened into a large sunken tub with spigots, and a necessary seat with running water. The children were fascinated, as was Bard. He'd never seen such a thing. Bofur was kind enough to show all of them how the spigots and the privy worked. Each room had longer large beds - the girls would share - and the rooms were spacious and looked comfortable. Their trunks had already been placed in the rooms, and Charlotte was sitting neatly against Tilda's pillow, so she ran over to get her. It all looked neat and very accommodating.

"We have a few hours till the feast, so what do you want to do?" Bard asked them. The girls wanted to explore, so Tauriel and Bofur left with them. Bard had an exhausting week, and wanted to take a nap, and Bain said he wanted to stay as well.

As he went to his bed and removed his tunic and boots, Bain came into Bard's doorway.

"Da? Can I ask you something?"

"You can ask me anything." He motioned for the boy to sit at his side.

"Do you ever think about the Dragon?" Bain asked him.

Bard put his arm around his son's shoulders, and sighed. "More than I want to. Do you think about it?"

"Yeah. I do. Sometimes I dream about it. I'm glad I brought you the Arrow, but I was so scared, when it looked at me…"

"Me too. I was never so scared in all my life."

Bain nodded.

"I'll tell you a secret, though." Bard confided to his son.

"What?"

"I have nightmares, too. Bad ones."

"What do you do?"

It helps to think how our lives are changing. I'm a King, you're a Prince and soon, we'll be rattling around a Castle, won't we? Thranduil's Palace too. That's not bad, for a poor Bargeman and family, yeah?" he nudged Bain, "It's funny, though. There are still some things I miss about our life in Laketown."

"I don't miss _anything_. I'm glad we're here, but, I just… think about it all, sometimes…"

"We've lived through some awful things, Bain. You know what a hard time Tilda's had with it."

"But she's little, and she's a girl..."

"So, you think grown men don't suffer? Thranduil, has been through more than you and I can imagine. Another person you might want to talk to is Feren. I think they'll both tell you, scars and injuries don't just happen on the outside."

"Thranduil and Feren, too? But they're so strong and tough! I saw them both that day…"

"Yes, they were amazing in Battle. But things like this have nothing to do with how strong you are on the outside, or even how strong you are in the inside, either, do you understand? Too many men tell themselves this, and they bury these wounds, until they fester and infect their whole lives. They'd rather do that to themselves, than admit they need help."

"They could be afraid to talk about it, too."

"You're right, about that. It's hard to face things that hurt and scare us. In a way, it's like going to battle all over again, only it's something inside us that we have to face. Is that what it feels like?"

Bain nodded, but still looked down. Bard nudged him. "How many nightmares have you had?"

"A few. I didn't want to worry you, because Tilda's seem worse. Anyway, I should be able to handle it myself."

"No! That's where you're dead wrong Bain. You are thirteen years old, and you've been forced to see things no boy your age ever should. But you did. I'll always be proud of you and how you handled yourself, even though you were so scared. But you should never, ever think to feel ashamed of something like this. If you have a bad dream, I want you to tell someone about it. You can tell me, Percy, or Thranduil. Tauriel and Feren could help you, too. It will help, I promise.

He gathered his son into his arms. "And don't ever think you're too old to get a hug from your Da, all right?"

"Okay, Da."

"Has this been bothering you all week? I'm sorry I've been away so much, especially if you needed me…"

"No, I was fine, until…"

"What, son?"

"Well, I was looking up at all the pillars when we first got here, and saw those horrible claw marks… It just…made me remember."

"Aye. I wish I could tell you that will never happen again. But just breathe through it, and tell someone. All right? Never do it alone. Find someone, and we'll talk you through it." Bard hugged him again.

"I love you, Da."

"I'll always love you, you know that. Feel a little better?"

Bain nodded.

"Good. I really need to rest before the feast tonight. I never thought sitting around a big table and flapping my gums would make me so tired, but I can't keep my eyes open. Do you want to lie down here with me?"

"No, that's okay, Da. Tauriel gave me a book to on Elven history, so I'll just sit there out there and look at it. It's interesting.

"Sounds like a plan. I'll talk to you later, then." He yawned, kissed his son's forehead, "Could you turn the lamp by the door down on your way out?"

The boy did as he was asked, and shut Bard's door. Bard snuggled down, and within five minutes, he was sleeping peacefully.

The feast, in the Hall of Kings that evening, was wonderful. Bard sat on Dáin's left along with his family, and Thranduil sat on the other side of the King Under the Mountain, beside his colleagues. Each King was wearing his livery collar across their shoulders, making an impressive sight.

His family were wearing new clothes, made for the feast. Bard had a dark blue tunic trimmed with shiny gold embroidery done in an elaborate design resembling wheat, along the collar and the laces, with soft, sturdy black moleskin leggings. Sigrid looked lovely and very grown-up in her wine-colored dress, alongside Tilda's purple one, and Bain's outfit was styled after his father's, but in a lighter shade of blue. Percy seemed to be getting used to the more formal clothing, wearing a cream tunic with trimmings in a more suble design, and Hilda looked elegant in red.

Thranduil looked stunning, in black velvet, that shimmered in shades of silver when he moved, and his robes were lined with crimson. All if this contrasted with his white-blonde hair to make him seem otherworldly. His diadem was different than the he wore during the battle; this one was done in a different pattern of silver vines and leaves, adorned with sapphires and diamonds.

Bain seemed to be feeling better, as he was digging into his second helping of food like there was no tomorrow. Sigrid was chatting with Oin, who approached her to offer his help with training as a Healer, when the time came. Tilda had left her seat and was over chatting with Bilbo.

Bard was thankful for the congenial atmosphere, this night. There would still be problems and disputes in the future - especially between the Dwarves and the Elves - it was naïve to think that one week could wipe away thousands of years of animosity. But, knowing Thranduil as he did, and as he was learning to know Dáin, they seemed strong enough to not allow pride to interfere with the good of their Kingdoms.

After the dinner speeches, and before the music started, King Dáin stood up and asked for silence. "I'll make this a quick speech," he declared. Cheers from the Dwarves. "As ye all know, we've had a mighty job tryin' to clean this place up. And in doing so, King Bard, we've come across a couple of items that belong to ye. We've had to do some repair work on them, but they're now good as new."

Bard was rather curious, and looked at Dáin and Gandalf with a bemused expression. Then Balin, and Gloin, approached the head table, and set wooden boxes in front of Bard. All the children gathered around his chair, to see what they contained.

He opened the first box, and it contained a beautiful, elaborately designed gold and emerald necklace. Sigrid gasped, and Tilda squealed loudly and clapped her hands, causing the audience to chuckle. Bard picked it up out of its box and looked at it with wide, unbelieving eyes. "Lord Dáin, it's beautiful, but my family has no Heirlooms, besides the Black Arrow. Are you sure this is mine?"

"Aye it is, Lord Bard. This is the necklace of Girion. He commissioned it to be made and Balin tells me he never had the chance to receive it before Smaug came. It belongs to yer house, to do as ye see fit. That Dragon stole something else you'll be needin'. It was in a terrible state, but we've since made repairs, and it's better than new. Open it."

Bard, still bemused, slowly opened the other box, and this time, Sigrid and Bain joined Tilda in squealing loudly. There, in a bed of red velvet, lay the golden crown of Dale. Bard lifted it out of the box, so the audience could see, and they oohed and aahed, as he took in the shiny yellow gold, accented with rubies, sapphires and diamonds. Despite the gemstones, the design of the crown was very simple, which Bard was grateful for.

He placed the coronet back in the box, and stood up to thank King Dáin and all the Dwarves. He had never thought about a formal coronation before, and he told the audience this. He stated that, once Dale was fully restored in all its former glory, a celebration would be held, with the other Kingdoms as special guest. He would not feel worthy to have the Crown of Dale placed on his head, until everyone of his subjects had a decent home to live in. Then Bard thanked all present for the cooperation and spirit of the talks this week, and added his hopes to Thranduil's and Dáin's for a strong, impenetrable force in the North, that would defeat all enemies.

After the applause died down, it was time to bring out the instruments, and really have a party. Bard had no idea Dwarves were so proficient in music. He sat next to Dáin, enjoying his ale, and watched as his children were taking turns dancing with the Elves and Dwarves. "So, ye enjoy our brew, do ye?" Dáin asked him, as Bard emptied his tankard, which was soon refilled.

"Aye, its good stuff. Reminds me of my favorite pub in Laketown. I haven't had any ale since the fires, and I've missed it."

A smooth baritone voice behind him said, "I would assume a certain smuggler, of ill repute, supplied your tavern with this good ale, am I correct?"

Bard turned to Thranduil, who was standing behind him, along with Gandalf, and smirked. "I admit nothing, and I deny nothing."

King Dáin got up, and motioned for the other three to follow him, he took them down a hallway, and went into what appeared to be the King Under the Mountain's private chambers. There was a couch and two overstuffed chairs, which looked to be full-size, and the he indicated for them to sit and make themselves comfortable. On the low table in front of the couch was a tray with a bottle and four glasses. Dáin opened the bottle, and poured the amber-colored liquid into each cup and passed them out."

"This is from the Iron Hills, and my own personal supply. It's got a kick even you might like, Elf." He poured the four drinks and passed them around, and offered a toast. "We, all three of us became Kings whether we liked it or not. I expected to be headed back to the Iron Hills by now, and Bard here," he looked at Bard, "never thought he'd be King of Dale. Thranduil here, probably figured his own Dad would be around forever. Yet, here we are, so we might as well make the best of things. Fellas, it's one thing to talk big about peace and cooperation, but now, the hard stuff starts. We need to learn to rely on each other behind closed doors, if we don't want that bastard Sauron to take us all in the end.

"Bard, no one expected ye to come to the table knowin' what ye were doing. Of course, I knew the Elf was goin' to help ye, and I won't lie to ye; I was suspicious. But, everythin' ye wanted was fair. Yer no' a greedy man, and ye never will be. I don't blame ye fer not wantin' to be King. I don't mind tellin' ye, that damned crown of Thorin's give me an headache! It's a heavy burden, and it won't get easier."

"Thanks Dáin. I don't know anything about being a King, and it's true Thranduil is mentoring me, but only in terms of me serving my own people. I would appreciate guidance from you, too. We need to keep this region solid, or we'll all be destroyed."

"Aye. No worries. Yer no' a bad lad; ye can count on my help, when ye need it."

Dáin raised his glass to Thranduil. "Yer daughter tried to save Kili's life,and he, hers; and yer blond-haired-son saved Thorin, when he tossed him that Elf sword, then made mincemeat of that bastard, Bolg. Thranduil," Dáin grinned, "ye might be a Pointy-Eared Sprite, but yer kids dinna learn all that stuff on their own. That counts fer a lot, in my book.

"We're gonna do great things, here in the North, and damn anybody who tries to stop us!" To the Northern Kindoms!" he toasted.

They all stood and drank. Bard found the whiskey potent but very smooth, warming his insides as it went down. Thranduil seemed to enjoy it, and he swallowed a generous mouthful.

Dáin raised his glass again, "I also want to toast your upcoming nuptials and wish ye many happy returns."

Bard froze. "How did you…."

"Don't be daft, man; who do ye think made yer rings?"

"Mithrandir told you, did he not?" Thranduil narrowed his eyes at Gandalf, who looked very smug.

"But… those must have taken weeks to make! How did you know?" Bard was incredulous.

"Yon Wizard knew about ye two before yerselfs did!" Dáin roared.

"They're... perfect, Dáin. Really beautiful. But, we didn't want anyone to know because of the talks! I didn't want you to think I…"

"Oh, piffle! Where did ye think the rings came from, laddie? Ye think Gandalf just conjured them up out of thin air?" Dáin began to laugh.

"Well…"

Gandalf smirked. "Bard, making magic rings, is something I'm very much against. You've no idea the trouble they can cause."

"My compliments, Dáin." Thranduil covered his heart and bowed his head. "The Rings are beautiful, and I like them better knowing they came as a wedding gift from our third Northern Kingdom. I hope you aren't insulted to not be part of the ceremony."

"I'm not. Yer doin' the right thing. Word of mouth'll spread quicker than a fire once it's done and no one can raise a ruckus."

He winked and laughed. "Yer also savin' Bard here a heap of trouble, by takin' him off the market, so to speak. By spring, he'd be havin' fathers draggin' their daughters to Dale by the wagonful, throwin' em at his feet. I don't hold with with arranged marriages. Politickin's is hard enough, and if ye got a shitty spouse by yer side, it's a feckin' nightmare."

Dáin filled everyone's glasses again, and held his up. "A long and happy life to ye both," he said, before emptying it.

Bard turned to Thranduil, "At least, Dáin didn't accuse me of getting you pregnant, too."

When Thranduil lost his tea this morning, at least he had the consideration to limit his mess to his own person.

When Dáin, King Under the Mountain spit out his whisky, he got it all over _everybody_.

 **ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:**

 _Hûrnest_ – the name of Tauriel's bay stallion (because of course our tough, warrior Elleth wants a stallion) which means, "Heart of Fire" (because of course, her horse would have a name like that!)


	20. Chapter 20

**Erebor, 14** **th** **of December, 2941 T.A.**

After meeting with Dáin, Bard wanted to check on his children, so he and Thranduil made their way to back to the Hall of Kings. It was an impressive room. The tapestries were huge, and beautifully done. They must have been cleaned recently, because their colors were bright, each one depicting a scene from Dwarven history. He would make a point to ask about them, during their tour.

He looked for the kids, and saw Tilda, dancing with Bofur, giggling madly. Sigrid was deep in conversation with Oin and Balin. Bain was sitting at a table with Feren and Dwalin, and he could see Bain gesturing something to them, probably telling them about his sword forms, from the way he was moving his hands. Dwalin, normally impatient and, at times hostile, seemed relaxed, as he listened to Bain. He saw Dwalin gesture to Bain about different moves, as well. Good.

He went over to Bain and put his hand on his son's shoulder. "So, have you told them how you killed the Dragon single-handed yet?" He smiled down at him.

"Da, I did not! Dwalin was telling me about his training when he became a soldier. He trained Fili and Kili, too, did you know that?"

"Evening, Master Dwalin, Commander Feren." Bard nodded to them. "Between you two and Tauriel, Bain will be ready for just about anything, won't he?"

"Aye, that he will. He seems to be off to a grand start. Tauriel's been tellin' me what she's been teachin' him. It's not that different from how Dwarves start." Dwalin said.

"That's good to know. In fact, I've been meaning to speak to you and King Dáin about this. For now, we'll need to concentrate on building up Dale, and we're currently under the Woodland Realm's protection, but the time will come when Dale will form its own army, and I'd like them to train with the Dwarves as well as the Elves. Each of you have learned to use your physical assets to their full advantage, and there's lots to learn."

"Dwarves aren't stealthy, and never will be, so we rely our brute force and intimidation. Now, Feren's folk," he lifted his mug to salute the Elven Commander, "can be invisible, and they ken how to use the element of surprise. There's a lot to that."

Feren bowed his head. "I thank you for the compliment, Master Dwarf."

Bard nodded and said to Bain, "It's getting late, and I need to take Tilda to bed. As long as someone will take you over that walkway, you can stay up a bit later, all right, son?"

"I'll take the lad." Dwalin offered. "He'll no' come to harm on my watch."

Feren stood up, and said his goodbyes. "I am afraid it is time for me to return to my duties in Dale. Good evening, Lord Bard, Lord Bain." With a bow to them, he then turned to the Dwarf and offered his hand. "I have enjoyed speaking with you, Master Dwalin, and I hope we get an opportunity to speak again, while I am stationed in Dale during the winter"

After clasping forearms, Feren went to King Thranduil and said his farewells. He gathered the few of his men who accompanied him and left the party.

"No' a bad lad." Dwalin said to Bard, as he watched the Commander leave.

"He's done right by us; Feren and Percy have been organizing the cleanup of Dale, and seeing to supplies for my people. I'm glad to see you two get alon."

"Didn't the lad tell ye?" Dwalin said.

"Tell me what?"

"The Commander there saw us with our Chariot, and ordered two Elven units to help Thorin clear the path to Ravenhill."

"No, I didn't know; I was a bit busy." Bard gave a sad smile.

Dwalin lifted his mug. "To absent friends, and a day I'm glad is over."

"Aye. And to new friends, who'll help make we don't have to go through it again." Bard said, before they drank.

"I hear Tauriel is goin' to be a permanent resident of Dale, then." Dwalin scrutinized Bard with his look. Bard wasn't sure what to make of that, except perhaps an air of protectiveness.

"She's in charge of guarding all the heirs of Dale, but this winter, she'll be guarding me."

"Why?"

"It's not widely known yet, but I need to send most of my citizens to Mirkwood to help them bear the cold, so Tauriel will be here with me. I spoke to Dáin a bit earlier, and, she'll be free to visit Erebor fairly often. I'm glad you all consider her a friend, too."

"That we do, and she's earned it. You won't have to worry about any Dwarf no' treatin' her right; she'll always have a place here."

"Tauriel's family to me, and my children love her. I promise you, Dwalin, I'll make sure she feels at home with us. To tell you the truth, I think she'll find more purpose and happiness in Dale than she did back in the forest."

"Could be. I just hate the thought of her no' bein' able to see her home again."

This was dicey territory. How Thranduil conducted things in his realm was his own business, and Bard didn't want to be baited into commenting on it, but he supposed it was bound to happen eventually.

"Knowing Tauriel's sense of honor, as we both do, I don't think you'd be surprised to hear that she tried to insist that her punishment be more severe." He was trying to be diplomatic, and hoping to Valar he was doing a decent job. Dwalin was famous for his short fuse, and Bard had no wish to get on his bad side. "In any other Kingdom, raising a weapon to one's King would be punishable by -"

"Death." Dwalin answered. "If a Dwarf and did that, I'd strike him down myself."

"Mirkwood's loss is my gain." Bard shrugged. " For my part, I want her in Dale, protecting my kids."

"I thought King Thranduil was just bein' cruel, but then Balin told me of the provisions that he made for her. I didna' know she was his kin."

"A good King can't make exceptions for family. I can't imagine what that would be like, and I pray I never find out." Bard changed the subject. "How was Thorin with his nephews?"

"He was hard on 'em, and held 'em to tougher standard than the rest of the folk; especially Fili. The lads were royalty, and had to be the example, and he never let 'em forget it. I trained those two for combat, myself." Dwalin looked off in the distance, sad. "Thorin never expected anythin' from us that he wasn't ready to do himself."

"I've heard that. I think it's how a King should be. Only someone incredibly strong could overcome the Sickness. Fili and Kili helped to save my children. I wish I could thank them." Bard swallowed.

"I thank ye." He stood up, clearing his throat. Bard held out his hand, and he and the Dwarf clasped forearms, then he walked away.

Bard went. To find Tauriel. "Let's give Sigrid and Bain another hour or so. I'm taking Tilda to bed. Do you know where she is?"

Tauriel smiled and pointed to the head table, where she the pants off King Dáin, who lean down, to hear what she was saying. Tilda had even dressed Charlotte for the occasion.

As Bard approached, he heard Tilda telling Dáin about her Mission: "The kids tell me the toys they like, and I tell Tauriel, and she writes it down."

"My, oh my!" Dáin said, seriously. "What happens then?"

"We-ellllll…" Tilda tilted her head. "Bofur takes the list the the Dwarfs, you make them, and Thrandool gives _his paper_ to the Elf's, and they make them!"

The King Under the Mountain stroked his beard. "Tha' sounds like a good plan, Lass."

"It's good!" She waved her arms. "The Healers say the children will smile more, and maybe they won't miss their Mams and Das so much, and maybe they won't get sick, because when you smile a lot, it's harder to get sick!"

The King Under the Mountain nodded his head. "Well then, lass; we'll get righ' te work!"

"It's really nice of you." She pointed to his face. "I like your tattoos."

"Thank ye kindly, Lady Tilda." The King nodded solemnly, then noticed Bard approach.

"Hello, King Bard! Yer tiny ambassador does a fine job, doesn't she?"

"That she does." He smiled and picked her up. "Hello, Little Bean, are you and Charlotte having fun?"

"Uh huh! King Dáin says he's gonna help me make the children better!"

"I'm glad. I hate to say it, darling but it's way past your bedtime."

"But I'm not tired, Da! Can't I stay up, pleeeese?" She turned her charming pout on full blast and batted her blue eyes, and could see Bofur and the Dwarf King melting under her spell.

"Sorry, love, but you can't go on a tour with Bofur tomorrow if your grumpy. Can you say goodnight to King Dáin and Master Bofur like a grownup Princess?"

He put her back down, and got a bit teary, as she paid courtesy to the King Under the Mountain. "Goodnight." She sniffled.

"It's been a pleasure doin' business wi' ye, Princess." Dáin bowed his head to her. No' off the bed wi' ye, an' we'll see ye in the mornin'."

After giving Bofur a hug, she took her Da's hand and they were making their way out of the Hall, when Thranduil joined them.

"I see you're on your way to your chambers, too. May I join you?"

"I don't wanna to go to bed, Thrandool!" Tilda started to cry. "I wanna stay up!"

"I can see that, but your Da is correct. Here." He held out his arms, and she went over to him to be picked up. "If you promise to be good about going to bed, I will tell you a story, how does that sound?" Tilda nodded her head, not quite convinced she should give up the fight, but settling down. "Did you have an enjoyable time, _Tithen Pen?"_

She nodded, putting her head on his shoulder. "I liked the music, and Bofur taught me and Tauriel their dance."

"That is good. Did Tauriel have a good time as well?"

"Uh huh." Tilda nodded against his neck, then yawned. "She smiled a lot."

"I think all that the dancing has worn you out, Beanie."

"I'm not worn out, Da." She stifled another yawn, and her eyes start to blink.

They entered Bard's suite, and Thranduil put the little girl down, so her Da could have her visit the necessary, and get her into her nightclothes, and tucked her into bed.

"I'm ready for my story, now." She called to the Elvenking, as she tucked Charlotte under her arm.

Bard listened as he told Tilda a short tale of how King Thingol met his wife, Melian the Maia, and his long, long sleep. When Thranduil was finished, they both kissed her on the forehead, and left, leaving a crack in the door to listen for her, while they sat on one of the loungers together.

As they relaxed, Bard smiled and laughed a little.

"What is so amusing?"

"I just realized; this is the first _real_ room I've been in since Laketown! I'm so used to tents now, this feels strange." Bard looked around at the smooth, stone walls, the high ceilings in the glow from the lamplight and the large fireplace. "It's beautiful in here. I can see why the Dwarves love it. I don't know if I could live here year-round, but it's a nice place to visit."

"I feel the same. My palace is also underground, but my home has more natural light, but Erebor has beauty and wonder all its own. This structure isn't suited to Elves, who need to be closer to nature, but I was a guest here several times, when Thrór was King Under the Mountain, and he was an excellent host. I am glad to see Dáin wishes to continue that tradition."

Bard moved closer to him, and put his arm around him, kissing him. "I can't wait to see your home, love."

Thranduil kissed him back, and smiled. "I want to see you in my bed and to make it ours."

Bard was curious. "How is your bed here? Is it long enough? I was wondering how the Dwarves were going to handle you tall Elves."

"It certainly looks big enough. I wish I could have your help in making sure it's comfortable…" the Elvenking rubbed his nose. "I have missed being close to you, Meleth nîn." Thranduil's hand began rubbing his thigh.

"Me too. Stop teasing me. I can't leave Tilda; she's in a strange room, and she still has the occasional nightmare."

"She does?" Thranduil looked stricken. "You did not tell me this!"

"She had one again, when the talks first started. I'm surprised she hasn't had more. Or the other kids, for that matter."

Thranduil was thoughtful. "If you think the children are lacking in sleep, let me or Tauriel know, and we can perform a _losta-luith_ and give them a peaceful night's rest."

"And a losta-whatchamacallit, would be?"

"A simple sleeping-spell. Children need their rest, to help prevent sickness."

"Aye, that they do." Bard said. Then he thought a minute or two, "Wait a minute…" The night of the Battle…you put one on me, didn't you?" Bard accused.

"You wound me, Bard." Thranduil deadpanned, his hand on his heart.

"Oh, knock it off!" Bard smacked the Elf with a small pillow from the couch, smirking.

"Perhaps." Thranduil gave the Bowman an imperious look.

Bard grabbed the Elf by the back of the neck, and kissed him until Thranduil closed his eyes, and opened his mouth to let him in. They fell back on the furniture, and became lost in each other for several moments. Bard could feel Thranduil's fingers running through his hair, his body moving closer as his tongue worked magic in his mouth, sending a thrill all through him.

After they broke apart, Bard got up, and grabbed his Elf by the wrist and dragged him into his room, shut the door, and locked it.

"But Bard, the children…"

"…will be here in about a half hour, so we'd better hurry." Bard panted, and pushed the Elvenking roughly on the bed. He pointed to his robe. "Off. Now."

Thranduil quickly unfastened his robe and was left in his undertunic and leggings, which he quickly unlaced. Bard climbed on the bed and was undoing his leggings, and pulling them down, and off, along with his boots. Thranduil joined him on the bed, almost completely naked, moaning as their bodies slid together.

"I have missed you, _Meleth nîn."_ The Elf murmured.

Bard ran his hands over Thranduil's thighs and massaged his buttocks, as he pressed their hips together and rocked. "You have no idea," he moaned. "Want you so bad."

The Elf growled quietly, feeling their hardening lengths rub against each other. Then he grabbed Bard's member and stroked, and the Bowman returned the favor.

They egged each other on, until Bard's movements became erratic and his whole body started to tense. Then Thranduil panted and held his breath as Bard brought him to a fabulous climax, holding his hand over his mouth to stifle his sounds, and squeezing his eyes shut as he released.

They hadn't had each other for over a week, due to time and exhaustion from all the stress, and Bard had been wanting him all day. At last, the tension seeped out of his body and he closed his eyes and relaxed with a sigh. Thranduil turned around, and lay beside him, draped his arm and leg over the Bowman possessively, and nestled his head onto Bard's shoulder.

"Oh, I needed that." Bard whispered, still panting. "I had no idea how tense I've been. This is much, much better."

"I agree, _Meleth nîn."_ Thranduil whispered, as he peppered Bard's chest with kisses.

The words barely were out the Elvenking's mouth, when they heard voices in the Common Area of the suite.

"Ulmo's Balls!" Bard hissed, and jumped off the bed, frantically grabbed his tunic and tugged it over his head. He scooped up his britches, and accidentally stuck both feet into the same leg, sending him crashing to the floor.

"Oof! _Bloody fuck!_ "

Thranduil was no help. He had his hands over his mouth to stifle his laugh. At Bard's murderous look, Thranduil helped him up and got him into his leggings and his boots, chewing on his lower lip, and chortling.

Bard, sputtering with nervousness, and fumbled over his lacings so much that Thranduil had to do them up for him, still snickering.

"Stop that! It's not funny! You think I want my kids knowing about my sex life?"

"I do not see why you are so upset, Bard."

"Says you! Do you want to explain the facts of life to Tilda, if they find out?" Bard asked.

"You worry too much," Thranduil rolled his eyes.

"Stay here, and don't make a fucking sound!" Bard ordered him in a whisper, as he got up went to the door. He paused before it to smooth his hair, straighten his tunic, and did his best to put a casual look on his face. Thranduil laughed into his pillow.

With one final, wide-eyed, warning look, Bard tilted his head back and forth, shook out his arms to loosen himself up, quietly undid the lock and walked out to meet his children.

Bard tried hard to look and sound casual, but his voice came out as a squeak. "Hi! Did you two have fun?"

Thranduil was holding his hand over his mouth to try and stop himself from laughing. He couldn't help it. The whole situation was absurd!

He finally stopped with the giggle-fits, got into his clothes, and smooth his hair down some. He stood near the door, to listen. These walls were too thick for them to hear, but it was endearing how shy his Bowman was about these things…

Then he heard Tauriel's voice.

 _Ai, gorgor!_ She was here? With her keen Elven hearing? _Gorgor!_

Instantly he sobered up and his eyes widened. How long had she been there? He'd been too busy laughing at Bard to pay attention. Tauriel would've heard everything...

Thranduil cursed in Sindarin, and his stomach did flip-flops at the thought. She knew. He was sure of it; how was he going to explain himself?

He listened at the door, as the children prepared for bed, telling their father and Tauriel goodnight, then listened to Bard and Tauriel chatted for a few minutes. Anxiously, Thranduil waited for her to say something about the "guest" waiting in Bard's room.

She didn't, to his relief. Maybe she didn't know…

After Tauriel said her good-nights, Bard quietly opened the door to his room, and signaled to Thranduil silently to come out, keeping one eye out for his kids. He and Bard stood in front of the door leading to the hall, and kissed good-night.

"Well, that was a narrow escape," Bard quipped in a low voice, grinning.

"Was it worth it?" Thranduil asked, smiling back.

"Oh, aye, it was." Bard kissed him again, and opened his mouth to plunder Thranduil's with his tongue. "I loved it, and I love you."

"And I love you, Bard." Thranduil buried his face into Bard's neck, loving his warmth and softness of those black curls. "I do not want to leave you, but I must."

"Aye, love. We have to behave. Or at least pretend to behave." They both giggled a little. "I'm never going to think of Erebor the same way, you know."

Thranduil pulled his head back and raised his eyebrows, "I agree." He kissed Bard's nose and opened the door and left, leaving Bard to close it behind him.

As he turned toward his own suite, he stopped, gasping.

There was Tauriel, leaning her shoulder against the wall, smiling smugly at him, her arms crossed.

Thranduil arched an eyebrow at her. "Yes?" he asked, trying very hard to sound regal and haughty. It didn't work. His voice was just as artificially high as Bard's was, and he blushed deep pink.

"Nothing, My Lord." She gave him a knowing smirk, standing up straight. "Not a thing."

"Well…then I bid you good night, Tauriel." Trying (and failing) to appear calm and collected. He was a King, for Valar's sake, but he still felt like a naughty child. And she knew it. It was written all over her face.

Tauriel went over to him, put her hand on his arm.

"I am so glad you are happy, Ada." She smiled up at him, then she stood up on tiptoe and kissed him on the cheek. "You deserve it."

She bid him good night and left him standing there, surprised and touched beyond description. He touched his cheek where she had kissed it. She hadn't done that, or even called him Ada since she was very small…

As he crawled into his bed, he thanked the Valar once again, for yet another blessing that came with this beautiful Bowman, who had unexpectedly entered his life and his heart.

 **Erebor, 15** **th** **of December, 2941 T.A.**

The next morning, they all breakfasted together with Balin and Bofur. Once their meal was done, the Dwarves took them on a tour of the wonders of Erebor. Thranduil had been here several times before, when things were friendlier, but he decided to accompany them, anyway. He knew the Halls when they were at their finest, and was anxious to see the how the repairs were coming along. He asked Balin several questions and complimented the Dwarves at their speed and expertise, at the restoration.

After the tour, there was a hearty lunch, and it was time to say their goodbyes and set out for Dale. All the children were talking about the things they had seen, with Tauriel, who added more stories and context from her short time as friends of the Dwarves.

"I had no idea there was so much inside that Mountain. It's funny how you see something your whole life, and never stop to consider it."

"They are making excellent progress. Soon, your own Kingdom will be just as beautiful." His Elf smiled at him.

"First we have to get through the winter." Bard reminded him, sadly.

"That is true. However, we have a wedding in two days, do we not?"

Bard grinned, brightening. "We do, don't we? Sigrid asked me how we were going to work this out, being married and running two Kingdoms. I admit, I haven't given it much thought; I was so happy to just be with you." Bard wondered.

"Much of my Kingdom runs itself, now. For now, I plan to spend most of my time in Dale with you. Establishing and stabilizing a Kingdom will take many years, and you need to experience the problems that come with it, before you feel qualified as King. You will need my help."

"I can see that. Bard was thoughtful. "But I don't want to have to depend on you forever. It needs to be _me_ running Dale, not you. Otherwise, the people won't respect me, or Bain, when the time comes."

"This is true. I plan to back off more and more, once you form a good Council. It will take time to find those who are completely trustworthy." He smiled at Bard. "As I've told you, even if you and I had not fallen in love, nothing would change my commitment to the city and to the North."

Bard brought his horse closer to Thranduil's and said, in a low voice. "I had fun last night."

"As did I, _Meleth nîn."_ Thranduil said very quietly, "We both forgot about the sharpness of Elven hearing." He nodded towards Tauriel.

Bard blushed, "Even through those thick, stone walls?"

"She was waiting outside of your suite for me."

Bard threw back his head and laughed. "So, she caught the naughty Elvenking sneaking around, yeah?"

"Apparently." Thranduil looked at him out of the corner of his eye.

"Did you get a lecture on how little Elves are made?"

"No." Thranduil gave him a dirty look. "She kissed my cheek and called me _Ada_. It has been centuries since she has done that."

Bard smiled at him. "I take it _Ada_ means Da, in your language?"

"It does. _Adar_ means 'father,' but she did not say that. She called me _Ada_."

"Good for you, Thranduil. How do you feel?"

"I do not quite know how to say it; I feel like…" The Elvenking searched for words. "I am becoming full again."

"You said it just fine, love. It's how I feel, too."

Thranduil smiled and laughed to himself.

"What?"

"Nothing…" Thranduil looked at him from under his lashes, smiling.

"What puts that look on your face?" Bard inquired.

Thranduil smiled again, and said, "You shall see."

"See what?"

"In two days, you shall see."

"Ah. The 'Elf thing.'"

A snicker from the King of the Woodland Realm.

"No hints?"

"Not a one. Just a promise that you will like it very, very much."

When they returned to the camp, Percy and Hilda went to their tent to change, as Bard and his family did. Once in their regular clothes, the children spent the afternoon resting, and playing quietly in Bard's tent, while he made a quick tour around the camp to see how things fared in his absence.

He'd rarely had the chance to speak more than a few words to Feren, so, he went to his tent, where the Elf greeted him with a bow and a smile.

"Good afternoon, My Lord, how was your tour of Erebor?" Feren got up from the table where he had been sitting, and saluted.

"It was amazing, actually. You can ask Turamarth for more details. He especially liked the exercise yards."

"I shall do so." He smiled at Bard. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

"I also wanted to thank you for standing up for Thranduil in two days. Your friendship means a great deal to him, and your support of our marriage is important to me. I want you to know; I'll do everything in my power to make him happy."

"I think you should know, My Lord - he has confided in me about the nature of your blessing from the Valar, and your choice. I admire the sacrifice you are willing to make for him, and our people."

"Thank you. Thranduil also told me of your initial response to our marriage. Considering the circumstances, I can't say I blame you."

"The well-being of my people is my first priority." Feren smiled. "It's my job to worry about it. However as a friend to My King, I am thrilled for him. Your decision earns my loyalty to you, as well."

"Thranduil is my oldest friend, and it brings me joy to see him happy again. He is now the Thranduil I used to know, before his grief overtook him."

"Aye. Grief can do terrible things to people. It pains me to think of how long he suffered." Bard told him. "He said you grew up together. What was he like?"

"My own father was Commander of King Oropher's Army, and I am honored to follow in his footsteps. King Thranduil and I are close in age, and were schooled together." Feren smiled. "Outwardly, he was as tough and unapproachable as he needed to be as a King. But in private, he dropped the mask and was much like what you see now; affectionate and loving to his family, and with a wonderful sense of humor. When we returned from the War, he had difficulty, until he met Queen Mírelen." Feren smiled, and kept his thoughts to himself for a moment. "He was truly happy, especially when Prince Legolas was born. Then, after the she died, he… never dropped the mask, and kept everyone at a distance, even Galion and me. He wasn't unkind to us, or his children, but he was…"

"Empty." Bard said. "Empty is the best word I can come up with, and I wouldn't wish it on anyone." Shaking his head, he changed the subject. "I would have loved to have known Thranduil when he was a boy. I'll bet you've got some stories to tell."

Feren gave him a smile. "Indeed I do, My Lord. However, if I reveal stories about my King, he will surely reveal his stories about me."

Bard laughed. "That bad, eh? You two made a pact, never to reveal your secrets, eh?"

The Commander just shrugged and continued to smile.

"Are you married, or do you have someone?"

"I am, and happily so. My wife's name is Glélindë."

"That's a lovely name. Is she a member of the Army, as well?"

"Glélindë is in the Tailor's Guild in our Kingdom. Her specialty is design, and she works directly under Taenya, the head of the Guild. In fact, my wife personally repaired Lady Tilda's doll, and made many of the clothes for it." He smiled proudly.

"Did she? Now I know who to thank for it! Did Thranduil tell you her reaction when he gave it to her? It was priceless; there wasn't a dry eye in the room."

"King Thranduil did tell me, and she was overjoyed to know it helped the Princess. The entire Guild was eagerly awaiting to hear about it."

Have you any children, then?" asked Bard.

"We do not, sadly. When I was home, I spoke to my wife about two of the orphans of your city, and if you are willing, we would like to foster them, hopefully to adopt. I am saddened to think their parents are gone."

Bard laughed. "I heard you've been visiting the Children's Area. Which ones are you talking about?"

Feren smiled sheepishly. "I have. I was speaking of Alis and Dafina. They are so young, and for some reason, those two little girls have pierced my own heart. They are very sweet, and I hate seeing them so sad."

Bard recalled the pair of little girls. They were younger than Tilda, and they both had blond curls and sweet blue eyes. They were with their grandfather, Gruffudd, when the Dragon came, and he was able to get them out, but their parents had perished. Gruffudd was severely injured in the Battle, losing his leg below the knee, despite the Healer's best efforts, and still was confined to the Healing Tent. He was one of the ones originally locked in the Great Hall, but decided to fight with some of the others for a last stand to help save Dale. He will be spending the winter in the Greenwood, as well.

The King of Dale looked at the Commander very seriously. "I wish I could give you an answer, but you and your wife will have to pass muster with Hilda. Even I can't say whether she will allow it. While they are all in the Woodland Realm for the winter, she will be vetting prospective parents, and making sure you all know what is involved. You must understand, Feren, it's killing me to see those little ones without a home, but we have to make sure that they are placed and cared for properly."

"I completely understand, My Lord. Let us hope "Lindë can persuade her of the home we would like to make for them. The girls tell me much of their grandfather, and I spoke to him, before I even brought it up with my wife. He was agreeable. If possible, we would like to take him in, as well, so they can be together."

"They will be living in the Woodland Realm, then? Does Gruffudd know this?"

"I am sure King Thranduil has spoken of this, or if not, he will surely affirm it. I will be stationed in Dale for as many years as it will take to Command the Guard here and develop your Army. I had already planned to bring my wife here for the duration. It would also help the little ones to still be around their people."

"Are you prepared for their mortality? You will only have them a short while, in your lives. I know what mourning has done to Thranduil, I hate to see you or anyone else suffer like that, Feren. Even if you are strong, your wife may not be. As hard as it is to lose a spouse, it's just as hard to lose a child. Harder, even. Our women feel the bond to a child even more fiercely than a father does. And you will be gone much of the time, carrying out your duties to your King."

"We have talked about that at length. All your orphans will suffer the same fate, yet that does not mean they do not deserve loving homes. It would be wrong to turn them away to avoid heartache that is to come. I could not do it. Perhaps the memories we could make for them and for ourselves will help ease the pain." He looked at Bard very seriously. "If I may be so bold, you will also have to face this, when the time comes. And you will look to my King for solace during that time, will you not?"

Bard blinked a couple of time, and sat back in his chair. The thought of it made stomach lurch, but Feren had a point. "You're right. When the time comes, I hope to find solace in Thranduil, but also grandchildren that might be born. Perhaps you and your wife would could do the same. The race of Men have bigger families than Elves do, and perhaps that's a way to still find joy in your grief."

"This is also my hope. Since the forest became so sick, few Elves can even have children anymore, though we long for them. My wife will be a wonderful mother, we both believe we would rather spend a short time giving those two a loving home, than to stand by and allow them to be alone."

"I see your point. Saving yourself from heartache is not a good enough reason to keep any of the children in an orphanage."

"Precisely. I hope Lady Hilda will understand that."

Bard smiled at the Commander. "I think, if you tell her exactly what you told me of your plans, and about how you feel about them, you and your wife will have no trouble at all."

 **ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:**

 _Ai, gorgor!_ – Literally means "Oh, horrors!" which can be interpreted as "Oh, shit!"


	21. Chapter 21

13

 **SUMMARY:**

It's Bard and Thranduil's wedding day!

After a very sweet ceremony, that includes their entire family in Dale, our newlyweds travel to the Elvenking's palace for their honeymoon.

Finally, after weeks of teasing, and no hints, Thranduil shows his husband what "The Elf Thing" is...

 **The Woodland Realm; 18th of December, 2941 T.A.**

Bard lay on his back smiling, eyes closed, while Thranduil was on his side beside him, kissing and tracing the outlines of every scar on his new husband's body. They fascinated the Elf, who asked for the story behind each one of them. He promised Thranduil he would tell him all about them, when he wasn't so completely exhausted.

They were _married._ It was official. In fact, they got married several times last night, and most of this morning.

And Bard learned what the "Elf Thing" was at last…

Two days after returning from Erebor, on the 17th day of December, a small group of invited guests gathered in the Elvenking's tent, and formed a semi-circle around Bard and Thranduil, who clasped hands before Mithrandir, and plighted their troth. The Kings had wanted a very simple ceremony, so the Wizard's remarks were brief, but meaningful. It was Percy who stood up for Bard, and proudly handed Bard the ring, who kissed it and placed it on Thranduil's finger. Galion did the same for Thranduil, who also kissed it before putting it on Bard's.

They both said some short vows to each other, then turned to all the children involved. Thranduil spoke to Sigrid, Bain and Tilda, affirming that his commitment to them was every bit as permanent and important to him as the one to their father, and his love would remain throughout their lives, for their children, and all generations following.

Bard turned to Tauriel and spoke of the permanence of his commitment to her. He called her the daughter of his heart, and affirmed her place in their family, as well as Legolas's.

Gandalf then took their ringed hands, placing one on top of the other. Hilda, trying not to cry, came forward, and wrapped a blue cord around their joined hands, asking for blessings from Ulmo, Lord of the Sea, and all the Valar. It was now Galion's turn to wrap a green cord around them as well, calling on Elbereth, Queen of the stars, and all the Valar, to bless their union.

Gandalf held their joined hands in his, and invoked the name of Elu Ilúvitar, beseeching him to consecrate their union, thus cementing their bond. Then the Wizard called Tauriel to come forth. He placed his hand on her bowed head, asking Eru to support her as a child of this new family, and he asked all the Valar to smile down upon her as she begins a new life here in Dale. He then called Sigrid, then Bain, and finally Tilda and offered them each the same blessings.

The ceremony was ended, so Thranduil and Bard kissed each other, smiling, and, hands still joined, gathered their children to them for a large and long hug, as the others smiled and clapped their hands.

The luncheon was served by some of Feren's officers, as today Galion was an honored guest at this small feast. Everyone smiled and enjoyed themselves, and soon it was time for the couple to leave for the Woodland Realm. Bard and Thranduil kissed each of the children and hugged them, and made them promise to be good. When Thranduil went to say goodbye to Tauriel, he kissed her brow, and held her in his arms, saying, _"Gwinïg, savo 'lass a lalaith, Iellig."_

Percy and Hilda, as well as Tauriel, waved them off, promising to look after the children, who stood before them waving and grinning.

It was a five-hour ride to Thranduil's Palace. As they went further into the forest, he saw much beauty, but far in the distance to the South, he also saw some of the sickness and decay that Thranduil was telling him about. Since Dol Guldur was cleared, the Elven Army was taking advantage of this and scouring the woods, clearing it of spiders.

"It will not solve the problem entirely," Thranduil pointed out. "But we expect this area to be a great deal safer."

"Good," Bard's mouth formed a grim line. "My people will be on this road in a few weeks, and the thought of Orcs and spiders doesn't sit well."

"Your people will be heavily guarded, _Meleth nîn._ Try not to worry."

Gandalf and Bilbo accompanied the party on the path to Thranduil's Palace. They planned to stay in the Woodland Realm for a time before wintering at Beorn's home. Once the pass in the Misty Mountains is cleared in the spring, they will make their way back to the Shire.

Bard's horse fell back beside Bilbo's pony, and he chatted with the Hobbit for quite a while.

"I haven't had much time to speak with you," Bard grinned. "I've been a little busy."

"So I've heard. Congratulations to both of you."

"Thank you. I'd love to hear more about your home and your people. What's the Shire like, Bilbo?"

"You've never been in the area, then?"

"I'm afraid not. I've never been anywhere, before all this."

"Well, then you and Thranduil must come and visit, and you may stay as long as you like! You'll love my home!" For quite a while, Bilbo and Gandalf entertained Bard, with stories of the Shire, with its green, lush hills and beautiful sunrises. Thranduil asked Bilbo several questions about the Old Forest, and Bilbo spoke fondly of the Green Dragon Inn, and the fireworks Gandalf used to set off at the Old Took's birthday parties, when he was a boy. Gandalf chimed in with a charming story of a young Bilbo who tried to "slay him" with his little toy sword until his mother, Belladonna Took came to the Wizard's rescue.

"I'd love to see a land like that. Peace and quiet, hearth and home… Sounds lovely. Tilda would love all the tunnels and the round doors," Bard told him. "I can't say when we'd make the trip, though; we've got to get Dale off and running. But just to know there are places in Middle Earth that are as wonderful as your Shire, gives me hope that maybe it's possible to make a home like that for my own people."

At last, they reached the bridge and the party stopped for a moment or two. Thranduil beamed with pride as Bard gaped in wonder at the tallest set doors he had ever seen. Since a young lad, his father had told him stories about this ancient place, but he hadn't considered them to be more than folk tales.

"This is," he swallowed, "this is amazing!"

"I am glad you like what you see so far."

A horn blew, and the doors of the Halls of the Woodland Realm opened to receive them. They were immense and heavy, but the Elves moved them as if they were light as a feather. These halls were underground as was Erebor, but inside they couldn't be more different! Both were hewn of stone, but Erebor's design had sharp, angular patterns. Thranduil's home was all soft, flowing vines that celebrated nature. It was huge, and looked complicated to navigate, with its many walkways and levels. The bright, new wood of the railings were almost ready, to accommodate their winter guests.

As they dismounted, their horses were led away, and several official-looking Elves approached to greet them. They saluted their King, then to Bard, offering him welcome.

"I thank you. It's beautiful, here." He bowed low to them.

Lady Emëldir, Head of Thranduil's Council suggested a short tour, but the Elvenking said, "Perhaps tomorrow. We have had a long ride, and we are weary. Bard and I have much to discuss." He turned to Galion. "Please see to our things, and arrange for some food to be sent to my chambers; we will dine privately, and we are not to be disturbed until tomorrow."

Galion nodded. "Yes, My Lord; I shall take care of it personally." The Steward turned to another Elf. "Please place Mithrandir and Master Bilbo's things in the apartment next to mine, and get them settled." To Lady Emëldir he suggested, "Mithrandir and Master Bilbo might enjoy the tour that you so kindly suggest."

Gandalf distracted the Council's attention away from the Kings by offering to help them show Bilbo around. He quickly led the Council members away from the newly married couple, explaining that Bilbo, had only seen some of the Palace but would love to know more, as he too, preferred living underground.

Thranduil and Bard headed straight for the Royal Wing. Bard's stomach had fluttered in anticipation for this entire trip. and by the way the Elvenking was gripping his elbow, Thranduil felt exactly the same way.

At last, at the end of the long hall and to the right, they reached the doors of Thranduil's chambers. With a nod to his guards, he went in, with Bard following behind.

There were four rooms that made up Thranduil's private chambers, but the public rooms were open and adjoined each other. A dining area with a large, rectangular table was off to the left, with comfortable-looking, high-backed chairs, with cushioned seats done in a dark blue. Their design reflected the leaves and vines of the Greenwood, and the door beyond that lead to Thranduil's private balcony.

"Celebrating nature," is what Thranduil said his decorating theme was, and he was right. To the right, was a living area, that had two overstuffed couches, covered in a red and gold silk brocade. Several pillows in coordinating patterns and colors adorned each of the couches and the comfortable-looking chair that sat in the group. A huge fireplace was along the right wall with a large oak mantelpiece and a fire already lit.

To the far left of the fireplace between the living area and the Royal bedchamber up ahead, was a corridor that housed the bathing room, and past that, the door to the necessary. The bathing room resembled the one in their suite at Erebor, with its large, step-down pool, filled with steaming water, ready for them. Thranduil explained to him how they tapped into hot springs under the cave, and was it piped in. Just like in Erebor, there were spigots. The walls of the bath were rough stone, with the same lamps protruding on the walls as in the other rooms. This corridor was accessible from both the living room and the bedchamber.

Thranduil took him back out to the Living Area and showed him the door to the right of the fireplace, leading to the adjoining apartment next door, where the children would be staying.

Then Thranduil took his hand, and brought him to the double doors at the far end of the apartment, and opened them to show him the bedchamber.

It was magnificent. The bed was bigger than the one he brought to Dale, with high, carved posters on each corner, sheer white curtains, tied back. The spread was green, in the same pattern as the red furniture he had just seen, and it was enhanced with a darker green embroidery, contrasted with gold. The walls were a combination of smooth light stone, accented with intricate wooden carvings in the swirling, leafy patterns he had seen on the walls of the dining and living areas. The ceilings were high, and reflected the natural light from outside, somehow. Two other doors were on the right; one opened to a smaller, adjoining room, which was once Legolas's nursery, and now contained easels and other art supplies. The other led to the bathing chamber and the necessary.

"This is all so beautiful, Thranduil! I can't even… Erebor was spectacular, but this is just wonderful."

Thranduil came up behind him, putting his arms around him. "I am glad you like it. It is _your_ home, now, as well as mine." He kissed the side of Bard's neck. "Shall we christen our bed?"

"As soon as possible. But I'm grimy from the road and so are you. I want to wash first in that giant tub," Bard murmured, leaning his head to the side, as Thranduil's lips ghosted over his skin, sending shivers down his spine.

"Shall we do it together?"

"I'd love to, but I'm afraid I'd lose my resolve, and I really want our first time to be in that bed, like we talked about. I'll go first, then you, if that's all right."

Thranduil kissed his neck again. "I agree. Let me get you a robe." He walked over to a door, to the left of the bed, which opened into a huge closet, and entered.

"Why are you smiling?"

"Do you realize your closet is as big as my house in Laketown?" He snickered.

"I suppose after three thousand years of ruling, one…accumulates things," Thranduil shrugged. "Ah. This is the one I think you should wear; it matches your eyes."

Bard was handed a dark green robe that thankfully on the plain side, with silver and gold leaves embroidered along the lapels. "Here," Thranduil led him to the bathing room. "Let me show you where the soaps and shampoos are." Before too long, Bard sank down in all that glorious hot water, and happily scrubbed the grime away.

When Bard got out of the bath, he reached a soft cotton towels, dried off thoroughly. He donned his robe and opened the door that led to the bedroom but found it empty. He rubbed his hair with the towel strewn around his shoulders, as he wandered into the living area by the fire. Thranduil was pouring wine into two goblets, that were sitting next to a tray of food on the low table between the loungers.

"That looks good."

"Here, _Meleth nîn,"_ Thranduil rose. "Help yourself while I bathe. I promise I will be swift."

Bard kissed him and sat down on a couch, and helped himself to the fruit, bread and cheese, and drank some wine. As he ate, he stared into the flames in the fireplace, contemplating all the changes in his life that brought him here to these very rooms. It all felt so right. After so many years of aching loneliness, of just existing to get by, he felt alive again.

He'd only been in this apartment an hour, yet it felt more like home to him than his house in Laketown, after he lost Mattie. With her gone, it had quickly changed to just a place to live, and a roof over their heads as he tried to get by.

Here, in the privacy of this room, while Thranduil was bathing, he raised his cup to Mattie, because after tonight, he will never join her where Eru had taken her. It helped to know that wherever she was, Mattie wanted this for him, and gave her blessing.

After a few moments, his husband joined him, wearing a silky black robe fastened with gold clasps at his neck and along his shoulder. The color contrasted with his hair beautifully, and made it look even whiter. In the warm firelight, there was nothing cold or remote about this King who was reputed to have ice in his heart. Bard's throat contracted with emotion, his heart thrumming against his ribs.

Thranduil sat down next to him, and ran his fingers through Bard's hair. "Sitting here, on our couch, before the fire…you take my breath away. You are here, and you are mine," the Elf framed his face with his smooth hands and looked deeply into Bard's eyes.

"I was telling myself how lucky I am to be blessed with love twice. I never expected any of this. I didn't even expect to live through killing the Dragon. And yet, here we are."

"Here we are, indeed…" Thranduil whispered, moving Bard's hair to the side, kissing his neck. "You are such a gift to me. We are a gift to each other, and Eru and the Valar wish it to be so.

Bard snickered. "I'm sorry."

"What is so funny, _Meleth nîn?"_

"I was thinking of the look on your Council's faces when you tell them there's a new Consort in their Kingdom."

He felt Thranduil smile against his neck. "They will most likely object at not having a hand in choosing you as Consort for me. If they had an inkling of my intentions toward anyone, the debate would go on for years, making me, you, and everyone else miserable."

Bard turned on the couch toward him, and gave him a sly smile. "It would be terrible to ruin all their fun…"

"To deny my Council a good argument is rather mean," Thranduil smiled and rubbed his nose against Bard's. "I am King, and much of my life belongs to my people, but I will not share this with anyone but you." He got up, holding out his hands for Bard, "Come, Meleth nîn," he whispered, and led him into the bedchamber.

Candles had been lit all around the room, illuminating the walls and the bed in a soft, romantic glow. Thranduil held his face kissed him hard, like they had been aching to do all day. Bard put his hands on Thranduil's waist, slowly moved them down to his hips, and pulled him closer. When they touched, Thranduil let out a low moan, and their kiss deepened, mouths opening to join their tongues in mutual exploration.

Finally, they broke apart, panting, lost in each other's gaze.

"Bard," Thranduil became thoughtful as he brushed a strand of hair from his face, "I must ask you to be _absolutely sure_ this is what you want. Once we do this, everything you have always expected about your life will change, and there will be no going back. You are giving up the Gift of Men, and will never be reunited with your wife or your children." Thranduil continued to stroke his hair, as his grey eyes studied him with love and concern. "I love you very much, but if you need more time, we will find other ways to pleasure each other. I promise, I will not be angry if you want to wait."

This was a reasonable and honorable request, asked out of love for his well-being. Bard stepped back, searched his heart and his mind carefully, and found not a shred of doubt. This was what he wanted; this was _right._

He took Thranduil's hands and kissed his knuckles. "I love you for thinking of me like this. I want an eternity with you, Thranduil, and I'm very sure."

Thranduil cupped his cheek and kissed him. _"Ci veleth e-guil nîn, Bard._ We both are sure, all doubt is gone, and the joy of this night will be magical."

Bard leaned in to kiss him deeply, wrapping his arms around him. Their kiss was hard, wanting, and passionate. "I want you," he rasped.

Thranduil gave him an evil little laugh. "Do you want me to show you the 'Elf thing'"

"Yes, I do. About time, don't you think?"

"Yes, I do."

He kissed Bard again, and moved his hands toward the ties of his robe, sliding it from his shoulders. Bard was working at the fastenings of Thranduil's robes at the same time, and dropped it to the rug. Their kisses became more urgent, and their hands started scrambling faster and faster; until they broke apart, panting.

Bard stepped back in wonder; he had never seen Thranduil completely naked before and it was a sight to behold. Thranduil Oropherion, this tall, lean beauty was _his_ for eternity. He raised his hand and touched the Elf's chest, running his fingers lightly over pectorals that were solid and very smooth, so perfect.

"You are just so beautiful…" Bard loved it, how all of Thranduil's body was smooth, soft and creamy white. Thranduil was an ancient being, yet there he stood before him, looking like he had only just been created and molded for him. It was always a revelation to touch his Elf, but now he was laid bare before him, offering everything to him.

His hands traveled lower, until Thranduil gave a loud gasp, grabbed his wrist and stopped him, with a smile. "You must allow me to have my turn, Meleth nîn."

Thranduil began to touch Bard, ever so lightly, and everywhere. "Oh…"He closed his eyes as his head fell back with a soft moan.

Thranduil whispered. "I love all your dark hair. It is beautiful, yet it makes you look wild and savage... I love your body." Thranduil put his arms around his waist to pull them closer together. "I want to touch you," he said between kisses, "I want to taste you everywhere, _Meleth nîn."_

Thranduil gently pushed Bard back until he was sitting on the bed, then urged them up until their heads reached the pillows. As their bodies pressed against each other, head to toe, Thranduil whispered to him in his ear, _"Nidhinc bestad meneg lû bo i chaust hen."_

The feeling of a warm, naked body next to his made him realize how much and how long he'd hungered for it, and Bard was suddenly overcome. The long grey drought was over at last, and Bard wasn't alone anymore. He had a partner to walk through this life, to be with him throughout his days, and his eyes filled at the joy he felt.

"Thank you," he whispered to his Elf. "For wanting me."

"It is I who gives thanks. For when we join, there will be no more void in me. I have you, who will 'see' me, and witness my heart. _Gi melin, Bard."_

"I love you, too. Always."

Their soft caresses turned into thrilling touches, as they continued exploring the other's body, eliciting soft moans and whispering sweet words.

Bard bit the tip of Thranduil's ear, making his Elf squirm. "I want you so much right now, I could scream…"

"You must trust me, Bard. I will make you scream in ways you cannot imagine." Thranduil grinned in anticipation."

"I don't want anyone to run in here thinking you're trying to murder me," Bard snorted.

"They will not. Silencing spells are good for wartime purposes. However, tonight I find it convenient to use for other reasons, for _you will_ make a lot of noise, I promise you."

Then Thranduil kissed him, and sat up, reaching into the drawer of the side table to get a small glass jar of oil. "You must keep your eyes open, to see how much joy we bring each other." Thranduil was settling himself between Bard's legs, stroking his abdomen and his thighs.

"Have you ever been with a man?" he asked.

"I've only ever been with my wife. But I know how this works, and I want it," he panted softly. He grabbed the back of the Elf's neck and pulled him into a hard, open-mouthed kiss that went on and on, deeper and deeper, Thranduil giving as good as he got.

Finally, they broke apart, "I want you too, Bard. I want all of you, I want to make you mine."

"Then make me yours. Do it. I need you to, please." Bard begged.

Thranduil looked into Bard's eyes. "Yes, I will have you. And you will have me. _Nidhinc bestad meneg lû bo i chaust hen, Meleth nîn."_

"I love you. Take me, love; make me yours for all time."

Thranduil smiled and kissed his temple. _"I dhû hen and, Meleth nîn."_

After kissing Bard again, Thranduil then sat up, kneeling between Bard's legs. He uncorked the jar of oil, and the faint smell of lavender and pine filled Bard's nostrils. The Elf put some oil on his fingers, then began his ministrations, sending thrilling pulses to every part of him. What could be better?

Bard was about to find out...

"AAH!" His hips jerked upwards, and he let out another cry. Thranduil had found something that sent jolts of fire through him, and he babbled and writhed with surprise and pleasure. Thranduil smiled, as he rubbed and tapped that mysterious place, making him senseless with delight.

"Open your eyes, _Meleth nîn._ Let me see how you like it." Thranduil's light eyes were nearly black with desire, and is lips were parted, as he watched Bard writhe from pleasure.

"So," Bard panted heavily, "Is this the magical, wonderful thing only Elves can do?"

Thranduil's laugh was low and husky, "Oh, no, _Meleth nîn_. Every male has this in him."

"I had… no… idea…" Bard managed to say, before he moaned again. "I thought this was…"

"Believe me, I have only just begun. You will not be disappointed, I promise you."

"If there is more, I'm not sure I'll survive it, love." Bard panted. "Oh, this is so good... So good..."

Thranduil kissed him with fervor, then looked deep into his eyes. "I want you, Bard. Never have I wanted anything more."

This was it. The moment that would change everything, and it was so right, it made Bard want to weep. He wanted Thranduil, and everything that came with it. He huffed out a breath and swallowed hard, as his heart filled to bursting.

Thranduil moaned, sending beautiful baritone shivers down his spine, as he slowly, lovingly, entered him. "Are you all right, Bard?"

"Give me a second or two more. I love you so much. Oh, Thranduil, this is so good." He pulled Thranduil's head down for another, deep kiss, then smirked up at him, "When do I see the 'Elf thing?'" He grinned.

An amused chuckle erupted from his Elf. "Keep your eyes open, look at me, and you will understand." He kissed Bard again.

Thranduil moved slowly, as both of them moaned, and they savored every sensation, but when their desire became more urgent, the Bowman wrapped his legs around his lover and pulled him in, faster and faster. Bard was soon babbling, completely overwhelmed. These new marvels pulsed through every part of him.

More.

He had to have more…

And then, _it happened._

As lightning started to shoot down his spine, a sensation in his chest began, full of warmth, pleasure and… _bright light._ Despite being almost incoherent, lost in everything Thranduil was doing with him, he managed to open his eyes and look up. Thranduil was illuminated by a bright, shining, ethereal glow and if he thought the Elf was beautiful before, it was nothing compared to how he was now! This light moved from Thranduil, to the space between them, then on Bard, and then entered him, until they were both enveloped in this magical radiance. His eyes closed involuntarily, trying to cope with it all…

"Open your eyes, Bard! You must open your eyes, please!" Thranduil cried urgently. "I must see you!"

He did. They were completely surrounded in white light.

 _Something was happening…_

Bard gaze reached into the stormy-grey depths of Thranduil's eyes…

And _saw him._

He saw Thranduil's soul. He saw his heart. He saw everything about him, and all the love that had always been inside him, and his hopes his fears, his dreams, _everything!_ Everything!

It was there for the taking: all that Thranduil had ever been, would ever be, was offered up to Bard! This spirit, this soul, somehow reached out for him, asking to be his, and Bard looked straight into the depths of those beautiful eyes and said yes, as he offered his own heart to this Elf. _I want you, Thranduil… You are so beautiful, and I want to be with you, I love you. Here I am, here is all of me, and I want it to be yours, I want to completely be yours… Yes, please… I want to be with you… I love you. I love you so so much…_

When the spirits in each of them met and joined, as well as their bodies, Bard reached his ultimate peak of pleasure. It seemed to go on forever, and bright stars filled his vision, as lightning shot all through him, again and again. His entire existence right now was lost in a sea of blue-grey, and he wanted to stay for all eternity…

At last, he felt his pleasure beginning to wane and he managed to take a few deep breaths. Bard barely had time to collect himself, before something else began to happen…

It was impossible, miraculous, but…

Eyes still locked together, Bard felt the buildup all over again, and he gasped.

It was Thranduil.

The waves of rapture that surged through Thranduil's body crashed over Bard as well, and he hung on desperately, not wanting to miss a second of it.

 _Oh Valar…_

It was Thranduil's turn to be overcome, and he took Bard with him. Fingers dug deeply into each other's flesh, as they cried out, unable to form words in their mind or even think. They were completely lost, yet at the same time, they were found.

They had found _home,_ for themselves and each other, and nothing would ever be the same again.

At last, things began to wind down, and they held each other, as they tried to slow their breathing. They were both soaked with sweat, faces soaked with tears, overwhelmed and sated.

The Bard he had been was gone, forever.

Everything was different now.

Finally, when Bard regained the ability to speak, he turned his head to Thranduil and smiled. "So..."

"Yes?" A slow smile crept across Thranduil's face.

"So, that was the 'Elf thing,' huh?" His voice was rough.

A deep, wicked laugh came his husband. "And was it to your satisfaction?"

"Meh," Bard shrugged, "I suppose I could take it or leave it."

Thranduil jabbed him in the ribs with his elbow, then threw back his head and laughed. Soon they were both laughing with complete joy.

After a while, Thranduil moved to lay on his side, and traced his finger along his jaw. "How do you feel, Bard? Please tell me."

Bard turned to face him. "I feel… different inside. There's a fullness that didn't exist before. I still can't believe it happened…" he took Thranduil's hand and kissed its palm. "That light… I _saw_ you, Thranduil!" he swallowed. "We felt things in each other, didn't we? Did that really happen?"

"Yes, _Meleth nîn_." Thranduil removed his hand from Bard's and stroked his cheek. "I am so glad you wanted this with me."

"I am, too. Will it always be like that?"

"Will we feel each other's pleasure? Yes, that is part of the gift of joining." He smiled at Bard. "The joy and light of our first time, happens only once, I am afraid. That is why an Elven marriage is so intense and special. That is why you needed to be sure. It would not have happened, if you had any doubts."

"I see that now. You were right not to tell me ahead of time; I loved finding out this way. There aren't words to describe it; when I saw you, _all of you,_ I wanted it like nothing else. Is that what it was like for you?"

"Yes, _Meleth nîn._ You have made me whole, in the best of ways."

"So this 'fullness' won't go away?"

"No," Thranduil put his hand over Bard's heart, who grasped it. "Our _fëas_ are one, now, _Meleth nîn._ We are complete."

 **ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:**

 _Ci veleth e-guil nîn, Bard_ – You are the love of my life, Bard

 _Gi Melin, Bard_ – I love you, Bard

 _Nidhinc bestad meneg lû bo i chaust hen, Meleth nîn._ – You and I will wed a thousand times in this bed, My Love.

 _Savo 'lass a lalaith, Iellig_ – I wish you joy and laughter, my daughter


	22. Chapter 22

SUMMARY: Our newlyweds enjoy a day of bliss, before Thranduil officiates at the funeral for his people. Bard offers him help during the ceremonies and after, in the best of ways.

During Bard's tour of the Royal Wing, he gets to see where his family will be staying, and learns more about his new husband in the process.

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 **The Woodland Realm; 18th of December, 2941 T.A.**

"What are you thinking about, over there?" Bard tilted his head to one side.

The newly married couple had spent all of last night and most of this day in bed, talking, napping, snacking, making love, and pretending the outside world didn't exist, if only for a short while. They spent a leisurely hour in the bathing pool, before finally emerging to sit down for an early dinner at the table.

Bard was still dressed in his green robe that brought out the same color in his lovely, warm eyes. Everything about the Man was warm and inviting, yet wild and fierce in a way Thranduil could never get enough of.

"I am thinking about you, _Meleth nîn."_ He gave his husband a smile.

"I hope you'll still be smiling, once you meet with your Council tomorrow." Bard reminded him. "Are you expecting fireworks?"

"I am sure word of your presence in my chambers will have reached them, which is not a bad thing, but they will have many questions, of course. I have asked Mithrandir to attend, and he will convince them of the Valar's assistance in this matter. They must be told of your new Immortal status, but I shall swear them to secrecy for your sake."

"Would it help if I went with you?"

"I hope you do not mind, but it is best you do not. I would like to speak with them openly, and gauge their genuine reaction and deal with any concerns they might have. I am afraid, if you were there, they would be too guarded in their responses."

Bard's head dipped low in agreement. "Besides, I am your husband and Consort, not your Co-Ruler. My absence would hopefully prove I have no designs on political power in your Kingdom. If you want me to sign something to that effect, I would be happy to do it."

"I will tell them, and thank you for the offer."

"I'm not being generous, here." He said with a wry smile. "I don't want the job! Ruling _one_ Kingdom is more than enough to drive me crazy; the last thing I need is to be responsible for another one on top of it!" his laugh was rueful. "Your Council has to be aware of that."

"If they do not believe so at first, I am sure they will be persuaded of it when they meet you as my Consort. We will have to meet them together before we leave, simply to make formal introductions, and to arrange the announcement of my marriage to my Kingdom." Thranduil sighed. "I cannot think of that right now; I must get through the rest of this day."

Tonight, was the memorial service for the fallen of the Woodland Realm. After Thranduil finished his meal, he would dress in his formal robes, to begin visiting the families personally.

The Council had arranged accommodations for families coming from outlying villages including several gatherings of relatives in the Dining Hall, so the bereaved could find strength and comfort in each other, and their King.

A formal ceremony will take place at midnight, under the Stars. Songs will be sung, and, as with the funeral in Dale, names will be read.

Bard offered to go with him, but Thranduil gently declined. "Thank you, but I must do this alone. I hope you understand. Even Mithrandir will not attend. My people need my full attention, and I want them to be free to express their grief without the distractions of outsiders. Please do not feel slighted."

"Oh, no; I'll be fine here," Bard reassured him. "Do you realize, I haven't spent one hour alone since the Laketown fires? Not one. In my old life, I spent four days a week on the river, with only the noise of the water and birds. I'll enjoy an evening by the fire, and relaxing with a good book. Or, I might try and get some sleep." He smirked. "You've kept me pretty busy since yesterday."

"Are you complaining?"

"Absolutely not." Bard reached across the table and took Thranduil's hand. "Can I ask you something?"

"Anything, _Hervenn_."

"I'm still getting used to…this. To you, in here." He placed his hand on his chest. "It's so different. But will I feel everything you do? When we're apart, I mean. How does it work?"

"I am not sure what you will experience, as a Man, but, yes, when two Elven _fëas_ are joined, they sense the strong emotions of their mate." The corner of the Elvenking's mouth raised in a sly smile, "especially when we are together physically, as you know."

"If Elven sex is this great, how do you get anything done?" The Bowman snickered. "Why bother getting out of bed at all!"

"I believe it is your gift for choosing to be bound to my fate."

"Could be," Bard mused. "But why do you call the fate of my people "The Gift of Men?"

"Immortality is not always a blessing, Bard. An Elf's long life can be full of loss and emptiness, with little joy in it to compensate. Many Elves sail to Valinor, because Middle Earth holds no joy for them any more. Another gift that Men possess, is the ability to fall in love and marry again, while they are here on Middle Earth. As you know, when an Elf loses a spouse, they are doomed to a long, endless life full of loneliness, until they meet again on the White Shores. I am grateful to Mírelen for allowing me to have love a second time. Otherwise…"

Bard pursed his lips in disapproval. "I don't want to insult Eru or the Valar, but it seems cruel to expect an Immortal to live thousands of years full of grief and loss. When I think of Tauriel, I can't help but get angry." Bard's greenish eyes blazed into his. "She just met him, and now she's doomed! I can't accept that, can you?"

"She and Kili did not marry, so it might be easier for her. But I agree, _Meleth_. I do not want her to suffer, after everything she's been through. Not like I did." His sigh was full of self-recrimination.

"But you're doing so much better, now."

Thranduil squeezed the Bowman's fingers. "When you and I met again in the ruins, I respected you, and something in me wanted to make sure you received the support you needed. But I think I realized my feelings had changed during the Battle."

"I'm not that impressive with a sword, you know," Bard's eyes twinkled. "But I'm flattered."

"I am serious, Bard; you are much stronger than I am, and would _never_ inflict your fear or anger on those you love! I saw you, in the Market that day. Amidst all the terror and death, you were tender toward your children… It was then I wanted to know you, for myself."

Bard got up from his chair and wrapped his arms around Thranduil and smiled down at him.

"Do you want to know when _I_ first became interested in you?" Bard whispered.

"When _?"_ The Elf closed his eyes and laid his head against his husband's chest as he embraced his waist.

"The night after the Battle, when you helped me into the bath." He laughed. "You were trying sooooo hard to be this stern, practical Elvenking. But I saw you check me out, you know. And you must have been impressed, because you were blushing!"

"That is not true," Thranduil's forehead wrinkled in a mock-scowl. "I was simply… assessing you for injuries. Elvenkings do _not_ blush."

"My Elf blushed then, and you still do." Bard grinned wickedly, and his voice became a low whisper. "Especially when you're moaning and screaming my name…"

Before he could come up with an argument, the Bowman ended the debate with a deep kiss. After several minutes, they pulled apart, their foreheads touching, breathing softly.

"You do look beautiful, when you blush. I like knowing I'm the one who brings color to the Mighty Warrior-King's cheeks." He kissed Thranduil's nose, as the Elf rolled his eyes.

"Anyway," Bard changed the subject, as he pulled Thranduil over to the couch and they sat down. "About this Immortality…are most Elves as old as you?"

"Elrond is almost sixty-five hundred years old, as is Galion, who grew up with my father. My cousin, Lord Celeborn is roughly the same, but his wife, the Lady Galadriel was born in Valinor and is over eight thousand. She's the most powerful Elf in Middle Earth."

" _Ulmo's Bollocks!"_ Bard's jaw dropped. "I'll never get used to that."

"This is who we are, Bard." Thranduil's shoulder lifted in a half-shrug. "Now Círdan, of the Grey Havens, awoke with the very first Elves by the shores of Lake Cuiviénen, and at over ten thousand years, he is the oldest Elf on Middle Earth."

"I've heard of Galadriel. Some call her a Witch."

"Not in an evil sense, but the rumors are understandable. Many people make the mistake of fearing and judging things they do not understand. She is Noldor, and a descendant of the High King Finwë. Her father sits on the throne in Valinor."

Bard thought about this. "So, if your father didn't like the Noldor, he must have hated the fact Celeborn married one."

"Galadriel's family line were of those who rejected the actions of their kin. Still, he doubted her."

"How do you personally feel about her?" Bard asked.

"I trust and respect her, even more now. She sacrificed so much to rid Dol Guldur of the Dark One's presence. Lord Celeborn, and my father are both kin to Elu Thingol - third cousins once removed. Lord Elrond's wife is Celebrían, daughter of Celeborn and Galadriel."

"Really?" Bard blinked and shook his head. "I'm going to have to take notes, or something to keep all this straight."

"See if Galion can find you a book on our history from the library, while I am gone." Thranduil cupped his cheek with a sad smile. "I would love to tell you more, but I need to spend some time in prayer. I must muster my strength to meet with the families of the fallen, and endure this evening's ceremonies. I hope you understand."

"Absolutely. Whatever you need, love."

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It was well past midnight, and Thranduil stood on his dais underneath the stars, as he led his people in the long, long lament for the fallen. Each Elf who left Middle Earth in this Battle, was prayed for, and the petitions went up to Eru Ilúvitar, and the Vala Mandos, to bid them welcome in his Halls, and to his sister, Nienna, the Queen of Sorrow to comfort and counsel the fallen as they spent their time with her brother in his home.

Their _Nirnaeth Glîr_ went on for hours, its harmony changing as each lost Elf was named, while their loved ones gazed up to the stars, hoping to find comfort and strength from them. It was a moving ceremony and a beautiful song - worthy of the good _ellyn_ and _ellyth_ who were now in the Halls of Waiting.

Thranduil was engulfed in the sadness of it all; he didn't try to be stoic. He let the tears flow, as thoughts of each named Elf came to mind. He always tried to know them all, even if only a little, and he was glad of it now, as hard as it was to say goodbye to them. His voice broke, and for a second or two, his song faltered, as anxiety squeezed his heart and left him breathless. The Elvenking tried to gather himself, to be strong for them, but it was too much—

Praise Valar; a sudden surge of vigor and hope flow through him, and once more his baritone voice led the singing, and he somehow knew what happened. The strength had come from his husband. From the comfort of their chambers, Bard must have sensed his despair, and was sending him comfort and love, to help him continue.

But he didn't have time to ponder this, because something was happening; something utterly remarkable…

As the song was ending, Thranduil's eyes rose to the stars in the clear night, shining down on all his people. One star, much brighter than the rest loomed closer, closer…

 _It was Eärendil the Mariner!_ Normally, he sailed his ship across the night sky, with his bright Silmaril on his brow, to give hope to all on Middle Earth.

But this night, he stopped, and the light grew larger as the Mariner adjusted his sails to bring him closer, closer… until the sacred jewel bathed all those in mourning with its bright, pure light.

As one, he and his people lifted their palms up, closed their eyes, and turned their faces skyward. As one, the Elves basked in this grace-filled radiance, allowing it to flow through them, to ease their pain, to give them hope.

In the centuries after this night, minstrels would write songs would be passed down through the centuries to remind people to be grateful for this miracle. Yet all knew there words could never capture the beauty of this night.

Eventually, the Mariner raised his sails to continue his journey, and the Silmaril's ethereal glow slowly receded, and once again took its proper place among the rest of the stars in the sky.

The Elves lifted their voices in a song of thanksgiving for this grace bestowed upon them. After Thranduil offered a final benediction, the last funeral for those lost in the Battle of Five Armies was committed to history.

When Thranduil returned to their chambers, sober and weary, he found his Bowman in bed, reading the book Galion must have gotten for him. As he entered the bedchamber, Bard closed and set it on the bedside table. Thranduil sat down beside him on the bed, his shoulders drooping with exhaustion and sadness.

Bard opened his arms and whispered, "Come here."

The Elvenking fell into those strong, kind arms, and wept for those who died, and for those who were left behind. Bard ran his fingers through his hair, and murmured soothing words, until he got hold of himself.

"Come on, love," his _Meleth_ urged. "Let's get you into bed, all right?"

Thranduil nodded, then changed into his robe and went to splash some water on his face. When he returned to the bedroom, the lamps had been lowered, and two goblets of wine were sitting on the nightstand. Bard held the covers back for him, and the Elf climbed in, as he nestled his head against his shoulder.

He heaved a heavy sigh. "I have cried more in the past two months than I have for centuries, Bard; I am sick of it!"

Soft lips pressed against his temple. "Go easy on yourself, love. You've got good reason to cry right now. Learning to handle your emotions takes practice, but the good thing is, you don't have to do it alone."

"You are right, _Meleth nîn_ ," Thranduil closed his eyes and sank into the warmth of his husband, then opened them again. "Bard? Did you help me when we were singing?"

"I did, although I wasn't sure it would work."

"How did you know?"

"I was sitting on the couch with my book and I felt this terrible... sadness." Bard rubbed his chest. "I wondered if it was you, so I sent you what I could. I had no idea if it would help or not."

"It did, and I am grateful; my people deserved as much as I could give them. Something else happened, too. I have never seen anything like it…"

"What?"

After he told Bard of Eärendil's blessing, the Bowman's eyes bulged. "Holy smokes…. What do you think it means?"

"My instincts tell me it will ease their grief, though there may be more to it. I hope I am right; I need my population to be as high as possible when the War comes, but I do not want their time here to be full of suffering. Some will leave for the West, but I hope not so many are in danger of fading, now."

Bard kissed his head. "Only time will tell."

"I love you very much, Bard."

" _Gi Melin, Thranduil."_ He sat up and put their cups on the bedside table, urged Thranduil down onto the pillows, and kissed his mouth, gently, then his eyes, his nose, his ears, down his neck, as his hands lightly traveled over his skin, making him shiver. When Thranduil attempted to return some of the attention he was being given, Bard stopped him.

"No, love, let me." He whispered to him, kissing his nose. "Just lie still, and close your eyes. Let me take care of you." Bard took his time, and slowly urged Thranduil into a state of passion that promised to release him from his heartache, and replace it with love and safety.

The Bowman entered him, and together they moved and rocked with and against each other, until Thranduil was frantic and babbling wordlessly. It was glorious, the way Bard was making love to him, and he begged for more, because he would always beg for more. Nothing could ever truly sate the hunger he felt for his husband.

When Bard leaned down, ran his tongue over the pointed tip of Thranduil's ear, and whispered, "You'll never be alone again; I love you so much," those words sent him over the edge into rapture, crying out Bard's name as he climaxed, their eyes locked on to one another. Bard followed him seconds later, reveling in their own and each other's pleasure, thus amplifying their orgasm to incredible heights.

They needed no words, and they fell asleep, holding each other in complete contentment.

.

.

.

In the morning (after a late breakfast), the couple left the Elvenking's chambers, and Thranduil took him on a tour of the Halls. The first place he took Bard, was through the door by the fireplace into the apartment where Sigrid, Bain and Tilda would be staying when they came. It was basically a suite with a communal area, much like the rooms Bard and his family stayed in at Erebor, and with three bedchambers off of the main room, and a private bath. Another door opened to the main hallway.

Bain would be staying in Legolas's room this winter. "I have had my son's things removed to make room for Bain's, but kept the tapestries and some of the drawings on the walls. I thought he might enjoy them."

Thranduil wanted to say something else, but his voice failed, as his chest tightened, and his stomach lurched. He quickly stepped out of the room, followed by Bard, who studied his face closely.

"That was more than missing Legolas, wasn't it?"

He cast his eyes downward and managed a nod.

"Hey, now…" the Bowman's voice was soothing, "There's no reason to be embarrassed; tell me how I can help."

Thranduil rubbed his forehead. "I must get used to facing things, Bard. Your children will be here, and I will not inflict my own problems on them."

"You're right, you know. The more you stand up to it, the less power these things have over you. Do you want to try this again?"

Marshaling his courage, he took Bard by the hand and they walked back into the room with its ornate bed. Thranduil made himself stand there, and allowed the memories and emotions to come. He closed his eyes, and breathed, in and out…

"Tell me about it, love." Bard whispered.

"When Mírelen and I were married, the ceremony was held here, in the Palace Gardens. After the feast, we went to the Forest and spent the night in my favorite clearing, with a waterfall and we had our first joining on a bed of flowers." His voiced dwindled, as he was lost in the memory.

"It's all right; I'm here." Bard rubbed his arm up and down, gently encouraging him. "Keep breathing; you're doing well."

"When she was killed…it was such a _terrible_ time. I know you understand that kind of loss, but I was also in fear for my own life." Thranduil's voice wobbled, but he made himself say it. "It was not logical, I know, but I had this…terror of fading."

"What were so afraid of?"

"I kept thinking that if my body faded to nothingness, my _fëa_ could not go to Mandos' Halls, and I would be forced to wander here, alone, forever."

"Oh, Thranduil…" Bard's eyes filled. "I'm so sorry."

"I didn't know what to do, so I…I ran away and buried it. I do not want to do that anymore. I made myself forget all the wonderful things she was to me, and I robbed my son of her memory. I robbed myself, too."

He went back over to the bed and traced the intricately carved posts with his fingers, and made himself continue. "This bed was our wedding gift from her parents. They had brought it with them from Rivendell, and surprised us, when we returned from the forest."

"It's beautiful." Bard told him. "I'll bet she loved it."

"You will never guess what she did, when she saw it set up in our room." Thranduil's mouth twitched.

"What?" he asked.

"Mírelen ripped off her shoes and started jumping up and down on it." He chortled softly. "Next thing I knew, I was jumping up and down on the bed with her. I had not laughed that hard since before I left for the War."

"Ooh, how un-Kingly of you." Bard's brows lifted.

"I still hear her laugh sometimes…" Thranduil took a deep breath, and blew it out slowly. "This will get easier, as time goes on, will it not?"

Bard gathered him into his arms again. "Yes, it will. Tell you what: let's come here tomorrow, and we'll try this again, yeah?"

"Yes."

The Elf intertwined their fingers and took him to Tauriel's old room. The large bed had been removed, and two narrower ones were there in its place, with wardrobes, end tables and a vanity with a large looking glass. "I hope this is good enough for the Princesses of Dale."

"It's better than my children have ever had in their lives. They'll love it."

"I hope you do not think me presumptuous, but since Tilda has recently suffered from shock, I thought she and Sigrid should be together, at least for now. There is a bed in the third room, if this displeases you."

"No, you're right; Tilda has always been near her sister, and she'll need her, for a good while." Bard looked around the room. "This is wonderful, Thranduil."

The next door down the hall was to be Hilda's suite. It was a smaller apartment, with two rooms and a bath off the living area. There was a fireplace, as with all the suites. Past the living area, was a bedroom, and another room, with a desk and a round table with chairs.

Opposite the doors of Thranduil's Chambers was his large study, adjoining Galion's, and past that was King's huge library, that housed all the ancient documents, and anything else useful to run his Kingdom. It contained books in almost every language spoken on Middle Earth.

Bard's eyes wandered over the tall stacks. "I've never seen anything like it."

"I am proud of my collection, though I must admit, nothing compares to Elrond's in Rivendell. Still, when Mithrandir comes, he enjoys spending time in here, and will often bring me new volumes and scrolls he has found. Our scribes have plenty of work, as I prefer as many things as possible be copied in as many languages as possible. I even have some books on Khuzdul, and Black Speech. There are several on learning Sindarin and writing in Tengwar."

"We have another library on the other side of his Palace, for everyone else's convenince, that contain books written in both Westron and Sindarin."

"I'll need one of those, when we're ready for it."

"Indeed, you will. Before Smaug destroyed it, Girion had quite an impressive collection. I have several books which are copies from Old Dale's library, and have already commissioned the scribes and printers to begin work on replenishing it, when your Castle is finished."

"That must be costing you a fortune! Dale should cover those costs."

"But I wish it to be a gift, _Meleth nîn_. _"_

" _Your gift_ is the survival of my people, Thranduil! Anything over and above will come out of our settlement."

Thranduil regarded him for a moment. "Very well; I understand. In fact, I will have you to negotiate with the Guild directly, and settle with them. It will be a good experience for you."

"Aye. I'll let Percy know."

Down the hall, beyond the entrance of the Royal Wing, was the main Dining Hall. The floord was stunning in curved, vine-like patterns of inlaid wood, and several chandeliers, carved with deer and other woodland creatures. There was a large dais at one end, with a long table. "This is where I sit, along with important guests, and my senior staff."

"It's a beautiful room, Thranduil."

"Thank you. I do like it. We have many festivals here in the Woodland Realm, and this floor is excellent for dancing during the winter months. I must confess I dislike the head table. It is as if we are all on exhibit up there."

Bard winced with a chuckle. "I'll know soon enough, I suppose. I think it must feel like everyone's waiting for you to drop food in your lap, or get a piece of lettuce stuck in your teeth."

"Exactly." Thranduil rolled his eyes. "While the children are here, this might be a good place to start them on some schooling. I plan on speaking with Lady Hilda about it, as the instructors here are fluent in Westron, as well as Sindarin. It might help to structure their day, and keep the children busy."

"Excellent! And while the children are busy, maybe the adults could use this time to learn reading and writing as well. The old Master did his best to keep us ignorant, and I hated him for it. This is wonderful idea!" Bard's face became determined. "And I want the bills for the school supplies for this winter, too. No arguments."

After a short argument, the Elvenking reluctantly agreed, and changed the subject as the continued the tour across the walkways and to the Royal Throne Room.

Bard's eyes bulged, as he took in the sight of the high, ornate chair. "That's…intimidating. It must be great fun, sitting up there and scaring the shit out of people."

Thranduil burst into laughter. "I admit, I do. My father had it built when he first came. At the time, more travelers used the Great Forest Road, many with evil intentions. There were robberies and worse crimes taking place in his realm, which endangered the villages near there. Several times Elves had been murdered, and their ellyth had been raped."

"Oh, shit… What happened?"

"He doubled the guard along the Road, and laid down the law. This throne was designed for the exact reason you just observed; it _is_ meant to be terrifying. King Oropher's judgment against any who would do harm to his people, was carried out right where you are standing."

Out of instinct, Bard looked down at his feet, where the inlaid stone floor patterns formed a circle, and he was standing in the center. "Let's hope I never make you mad."

Thranduil smiled at his husband and continued. "Eventually, legends of the King of the Woodland Realm traveled far and wide. For a long time, fear of this Throne was enough to scare off criminals. Many said it was magical, and could sense when someone was lying, or had evil in his heart.

"I'll bet your father enjoyed that." Bard grinned.

"It saved him a lot of work." The Elvenking shrugged. "It is never easy to mete out punishment, Bard, and it never should be. The responsibility is crushing, even if the sentence is just. My father did what he needed to, and so do I. I told you before, if any outsider comes into my Kingdom with ill intentions, they are dealt with severely.

"When people are brought before your throne, Bard, consider your judgements carefully, but never hesitate to do what needs to be done. If you are hesitant and inconsistent, you will be perceived as weak and changeable. This will weaken your rule, and put your Kingdom at risk. If you are brash and hasty, the same will happen."

"That's a tough balance."

"It is, but this is why I wanted _you_ to be King, Bard; you do not love power for its own sake, but only how that power benefits your people." Thranduil placed his hand on the Bowman's shoulder. "The challenge is to never allow this power to seduce you."

It was time to continue with the tour. "Come, let me show you where the families will be taken and the orphans…"

Thranduil showed Bard several adjoining portions of the Palace, set aside for the Dale residents and the orphans.

"What do your people here think about so many women and children coming?"

Thranduil's grin was wide. "They are thrilled at thought of children's voices here in these halls! Things have been too quiet for too long, and we are eager for a challenge."

They stopped at the junction of several corridors. "Hilda and Galion thought your people might be more comfortable together, rather than be dispersed here and there. She wants the orphans to be housed together, at least for now, until homes are found. We want to encourage your people to mingle with mine, so they all will be dining together at mealtime."

Bard was pleased. "Your people have been very kind. I still hate the idea of them leaving me, but it helps to picture all this, when I'm back in Dale. I'm glad the children will be near you and Hilda."

"The reason they must stay near me, is because your children now belong to two Royal Houses and heirs to your Kingdom. They need constant protection here, and the Royal Wing is easy to secure."

Bard considered this. "You're right." He reluctantly agreed. "I don't like them being set apart, but it is what it is."

It was time to return to Thranduil's chambers for a late lunch before his meeting with his Council. As the meal was being served, Galion told them a Feast was being organized in the Main Hall for tomorrow evening, to celebrate their marriage.

"I am afraid we both will be on display, _Meleth nîn._ You more than me, I think." Thranduil teased. "I do hope you are fully prepared to be interesting."

"I'll work on it. I wouldn't want to disappoint them. Shall I get up on the table and dance, or something? Sing perhaps?"

"You _could_ shed your clothing, piece by piece, while singing one of your father's lewd pub songs?" Thranduil deadpanned.

"Good idea. Ply me with enough of your wine, and I might.. Just one problem with your plan, though."

"And what would the problem be?"

"If word got back to Hilda, she'd thrash me into the middle of next week. I'd have to tell her it was your idea, and we'd be holding a funeral for your privates."

Thranduil quirked an eyebrow. "It might be worth the sacrifice, to see their faces."

"Aye, it would, but if Hilda…" Bard pointed out to his new husband.

"...cuts off my Elf Thing, there would be no more 'Elf Thing?'"

Bard dropped his fork with a groan. "Tell me you did not just say that."

"What?"

"You named your Elf Thing the _'Elf Thing?'"_

"What is your objection, _Hervenn nîn?"_ Thranduil asked as he speared another piece of chicken and put it in his mouth.

Bard threw his napkin at him, as he replied, "That I didn't think of it first,"

ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:

 _Hervenn_ – Husband

 _Nirnaeth Glîr_ – Song of Mourning

 _ellyn_ – Male Elves (pl.)

 _ellyth_ \- Female Elves (pl.)

NOTES:

I understand that, technically the plural form if _fëa_ is _fëar,_ but I find it too jarring. So, for this series, I will use _fëas._

More information on the History of the Greenwood can be found here: /wiki/Oropher

They can also be found in J.R.R. Tolkien's and Christopher Tolkien's book, "Unfinished Tales": The History of Galadriel and Celeborn", and in "Appendix B: The Sindarin Princes of the Silvan Elves"


	23. Chapter 23

13

SUMMARY: The honeymoon continues, and Bard enjoys a relaxing afternoon and a chat with Galion, while Thranduil and Gandalf drop the bomb on his Council about their elopement. Will they understand?

Then our boys spend a rare, quiet evening in alone, in front of the fire.

The next morning, Bard discovers an unexpected side effect from his marriage to an Immortal Elvenking. How will Thranduil react?

.

.

 **The Woodland Realm; 19th of December, 2941 T.A.**

Bard set the book on his chest with a yawn as he stretched on the couch. Never in his life had he had the luxury to relax on such comfortable furniture!

Thranduil was right; _everything_ he had ever expected about his life was different. Living in Dale and becoming its King, was only the beginning.

How long had it been, since he'd felt so content?

He sat up with a sigh, and placed his book on the end table. After using the necessary, he walked through the Royal Apartment, looking at everything, observing the personal touches. Sadly, there didn't seem to be many. No portraits hung on the walls. There was a small drawing of Legolas in a frame on a table next to the door of Thranduil's walk-in closet in their bedroom. There was a sketch of a young Legolas on the mantelpiece, next to a drawing of what must have been Tauriel; a cute Elfling with curly hair and pointed ears, which had been done by the same hand. Even if Thranduil hadn't been openly affectionate with them, here was evidence that he thought of his children fondly.

.

His musings were interrupted as someone entered the King's Chambers.

"Hello Galion! Are you enjoying being back home?"

"I am," the Aide smiled. "I hope you grow to love these Halls as much as we do. Can I get you something, Lord Bard?"

"No, thank you. Please; have a seat," he indicated the opposite couch. "And just call me Bard; I would like for us to be friends."

"As would I," the Elf nodded. It brings me joy to see Thranduil so happy again."

"Glad to hear it. He considers you as a second father, so your approval means a lot."

"You flatter me. I helped raise and educate my King, as well as his children. There is very little about him that I do not know."

"Oh, boy," Bard chuckled. "I'll bet _you've_ got some stories to tell. He was a real handful as a child, wasn't he?"

"Indeed, he was," Galion's mouth widened into an amused smile. "We had quite the time keeping up with him. From the time he was in his crib, he wanted to climb on things. Many times, he would avoid his lessons by disappearing high up in the trees. Once he even climbed up some of the sculptures along the walls in the Dining Hall, and frightened us half to death. We had no idea until Thranduil got stuck near the top, and screamed for help. The Queen nearly fainted when she found him."

"What happened?"

"It was the only time King Oropher ever spanked him, and he was sent to bed without his dinner. Then he had to scrub the entire floor of the Dining Hall, just to make sure he learned his lesson."

"I can just imagine the howling that went on, when he was over the King's knee." Bard pulled his lips inward to mask his grin. "Was Legolas the same way, when he was young?"

The Aide grimaced. "Perhaps Thranduil was given his just desserts, because his son was worse. As soon as he learned how to walk, he did his best to avoid it, he only wanted to run at top speed, everywhere he went. He was his father all over again, plus the added energy of his mother."

"So I've been told. Thank you for the book, by the way. Thranduil's been telling me some stories of the history of Dale, and I find the subject fascinating."

"You are most welcome. If you like, I will send you plenty of reading materials over the winter months; it might make the time pass more quickly."

"I'd like that, thank you. I've got a lot of catch-up learning to do, if I'm going to make a go of it."

"It would be my pleasure. May I take the liberty and say I am glad that you chose Thranduil's fate? You will not have an easy road, but I will help you as much as I am able. I hope you both find much joy with each other."

"Thank you. I take it you'll be helping Thranduil and Hilda look after my children this winter?"

"Yes. I look forward to it, although I am sorry you will miss them. You have three wonderful children, and they do you credit."

"Percy and Hilda deserve just as much credit as I do for seeing to them so well. _You_ did everything possible to help Thranduil with his children, and he knows it. Legolas and Tauriel grew up loved and lacked very little, and you deserve the credit for that."

"It was no hardship or sacrifice; it was a joy," Galion modestly lowered his eyes. "I love them like my own, just as Lady Hilda and Lord Percy love you and your children."

Bard smiled, then changed the subject. "How have Percy and Hilda been doing under your instruction?"

"They have been coming along wonderfully. Lady Hilda is especially good at organizing and arranging things, and Lord Percy, I find, excels at the administrative work with a wonderful eye for detail."

He shrugged. "That doesn't surprise me at all. Those two have different temperaments, but they complement each other. Hilda has always preferred being in the thick of things, and Percy prefers to stay quietly on the sidelines, observing. Don't underestimate him, though. You definitely want him on your side, if there is a fight."

"That is an astute description." The Aide smirked.

"Are you looking forward to being invaded this winter by so many women and children?"

"I am. I think it will be good the Palace to have things shaken up a bit. We've been stagnant for such a long while. The impression I am receiving is eager excitement, especially about the children."

A thought occurred to Bard, "How are you going to feed them all this winter, Galion? Will you have enough food?"

"We do, I promise. Lady Hilda has also gathered several recipes and sent them with me, and I have passed them along to the kitchens. She also recommended that there be a schedule for your ladies to assist our cooks, along with helping to serve and clean up."

"Excellent. Dale folk would never be happy just sitting around, being guests. It's never been our way. Truth is, most of them need to learn new skills to make a life for themselves in Dale. We were fishermen, and now we need to learn to be farmers, merchants, and many other things."

"That is also true. To that end, I have already arranged for our Guilds to give presentations while they are here, and offer instruction."

"Excellent! And they're willing?"

"They are eager to teach what they know, and perhaps learn more about your culture as well. This will be good for all of us, I think."

"What plans you do you and Hilda have for the children?"

"We believe all the children should spend a great deal of their time here with instruction. There are many adults who could use this time to learn to read and write as well. As for the Prince and Princesses, they already know how read and write in Westron, but I would like to suggest they learn Sindarin, as well. Their education must also include deportment, and etiquette, even dancing. Lady Hilda is adamant that they be good ambassadors for Dale, and we've devised a curriculum that will hopefully accommodate the demands that will be placed upon them."

Bard nodded. "Go on."

"At this point, it is mostly learning the history of Dale. We have books in the King's library that records your new country's history, from its conception on. Their tutoring will need to continue long past the spring, so perhaps someone should be appointed as such."

"Excellent point." Bard laughed.

"In addition, Bain will continue his instructions in weaponry. He will be training with Daeron, who will be here as their guard, and Thranduil himself, whenever possible." Galion hesitated a moment, before he told Bard. "I am afraid your daughters will need to be trained in self-defense, at the very least."

Bard was taken aback. "What? I don't know if they…"

Galion raised his hand to clarify. "My Lord, you must understand. Your children are the future of Dale, and there will be some who will want to change that, for their own ends. It's a sad truth about ruling a Kingdom. They will be guarded round the clock for the rest of their lives. Your people that came from Laketown seem to be tolerant, hardworking and honest. But there will be others coming from all over Middle Earth, yes? Guards will be an effective deterrent, but it would be wrong to not give them every advantage to protect themselves."

The King of Dale sat back on the couch, with his chin in his fingers. "You're right. I hate that you're right, Galion, but there it is. Just be careful: Tilda has just started to come back from a deep shock. I don't want anything to set back her recovery."

"We will be gentle. King Thranduil, and Prince Legolas began to learn some defensive moves when they were smaller then Lady Tilda. But, yes, to answer your concern, we will watch her carefully. Her recovery is most important right now."

"Thank you. I appreciate it." Bard got up to pour himself some water. "Would you like some?"

"No thank you. Thranduil should be back here within the hour, so I will get your dinner."

Just as the Aide put his hand on the doorknob, Thranduil came in, with a satisfied grin.

"Hello; I see you are keeping each other company."

"Your new husband and I were speaking of our plans for this winter. If you will excuse me, I must head to the kitchens." With a bow, he exited, leaving the couple alone.

Bard put his arms around his Elf. "So? How did the Council meeting go?"

"Mithrandir and I have duly informed my council of our marriage."

"I see no wounds anywhere, and you don't look angry, so I imagine they decided to let you live."

"Things went better than I expected. Mithrandir told them of the instructions he received from the Valar, and what had learned about Mattie's visit to you. That got their attention – as well it should – and then of Mírelen's petition to the Valar. I then informed them of our feelings for each other, and about our small ceremony and announced that we were wed."

"Just like that? No explosions? No fireworks even?"

Thranduil smiled down at him, and kissed Bard's nose. "In truth, it did come as a shock. Please keep in mind that these are people who only receive a surprise perhaps once every decade or so, and nothing like this in hundreds of years."

"Those poor souls…" Bard smirked. "Then what happened?"

"They shared their disappointment at not being involved, but what could they do? If the Valar, and Eru himself wish it, it is out of their hands, is it not? Then he told them something that finally convinced them."

"Which was?"

"Mithrandir explained your sacrifice, so I could stay with our people."

"And… how did they take that?"

"They are grateful to you, and admire your courage."

Bard's mouth fell open. "I'm no hero, Thranduil; I just couldn't allow you to abandon your people. Not even for me."

Thranduil took Bard's face in his hands and kissed him softly. "You _were_ brave, although it may not seem so, now, _Meleth nîn._ But there will come a time, when you grieve, and I will love you even more for it."

Bard closed his eyes. "I know," he whispered. "But you will be with me, and we will grieve together. Since I saw Mattie that night, I can picture the children with her, and that helps a lot."

"You will also have grandchildren. Sigrid, Bain and Tilda will live on in them, and this will comfort you."

He nodded, eyes still closed. _"We_ will have grandchildren, love. By then they will be as much yours as mine."

Thranduil kissed his forehead. "And I will be honored, Meleth nîn."

.

Once dinner was finished and cleared away, they relaxed on the couch, in front of the fire, with Bard wrapped in Thranduil's arms, his head against the Elf's chest. They spoke in whispers about trivial things, just enjoying each other, and the idea of an entire evening without duties to perform, or anyone disturbing them, as they held each other and watched the flames.

"I had a nice chat with your Aide, before dinner." Bard said. "I think he and I will be good friends."

"He is a good friend to have, and I look to him for many things. He's known my father all his life, and when we speak of _Ada_ , he does not feel so far away."

"Do you take after him?"

"In looks, yes. Many people have told me so."

"Is he the one who gave you those magnificent eyebrows? I think, next to your lips, they're my favorite things about your face."

Thranduil laughed softly. "Yes, he did. _Nana_ gave me her grey eyes, which I have always liked."

"What were your parents like?"

"They were wonderful to me, and every good thing I learned about ruling a Kingdom, I learned from them. I was still fairly young when I lost them – younger than Legolas is now…" Thranduil's voice trailed off, and he fell silent.

"What was your mother like?"

"She was well-loved as Queen. Like Mírelen, her special interest was the women and children of our Realm. She also persuaded my father to look after some of the human villages between the Greenwood and Lothlórien. If there was an attack by either bandits or Orcs, she would send supplies and often visited herself. _Nana_ asked my father to train the villagers in weapons and self-defense."

"You never told me her name, love." Bard snuggled against his shoulder. "What was it?"

"Did I not? Her name is Lindorië. If Legolas had been a girl we would name her thus, to honor her."

"That's a beautiful name."

"She sailed West three years after I returned from the War. _Nana_ ran the Kingdom admirably in our absence, but her grief was such that she could not remain. As much as she wanted to stay and support me, I could not allow her to suffer, so I insisted she go." Thranduil sighed.

"I remember you saying something about that. Tell me more about her."

"She had a pensive, thoughtful nature. My mother, like all Elves, feels things deeply, but she was especially sensitive and empathetic. _Nana_ would often say it was both a gift and a curse."

"I see that same thing in you." Bard sat up, and turned to look into his Elf's eyes. "I think you take after her in that respect."

Thranduil leaned his head against the back of the couch and looked up at the high ceiling. "I believe you are right, but I do not think I fully understood it, until recently. I have spent several hours speaking with Galion about things, to make sense of all that has happened."

"And does it help?"

"I think so." He met Bard's gaze again, and one side of his mouth turned slightly upwards. "Much like Percy when he took you out on the Lake, Galion has done the same for me. Several nights ago, he told me something that has weighed on my mind, and has helped me understand myself more."

Bard reached up and stroked Thranduil's cheek, then ran his fingers through his long, blonde hair. "And what was that, love?"

"Galion observed that my father had what he called an 'inward nature.' If he was confused or conflicted about something, he needed time alone, to mull things over. My mother, on the other hand, did things in an 'outwardly manner,' I suppose you could say. It was the opposite for her. Things would become entangled in her mind and her heart, like my father, but she solved it by talking it all out, or sometimes writing it out. She often would not even understand the root of a problem, or its solution, until she laid it all out in front of her. Only then could she see things clearly, and know what to do."

"And…you, being your father's son, tried to emulate him in this way."

"Yes. And it did not work for me nearly as well."

"Because, love, it's just not who you are, is it?"

A small smile from the Elf. "No, it is not."

"Does that help you, a little?"

"I believe so. I thought, to be strong, one did not do such things. But Galion made me see that it is never a question of strength or weakness. It is simply a matter of knowing oneself."

Still stroking Thranduil's hair, he said, "There is nothing wrong with that, is there?"

"No, _Meleth nîn,_ there is not." He smiled serenely.

They snuggled in comfortable silence and watched the flames for a while. Then Thranduil took Bard by the hand into the bedroom, where they undressed each other, and went to bed.

When they made love that night, it was gentle, slow, and sweet, yet very satisfying.

.

.

 **20th of December, 2941 T.A.**

Bard's eyes opened the next morning, snuggled in the soft pillows and blankets. His husband was still asleep on his stomach, with his arms tucked under his pillow.

The Bowman stared at the sleeping form, and his breath caught. Thranduil was just _so beautiful!_ His nearly-white hair splayed over his shoulders and on the smooth creamy curves of his back, that rose and fell with each breath. His long dark lashes fanned out over his cheeks, underneath those gorgeous, full brows that were uniquely his. He loved them, but the best part was his perfect mouth, open ever so slightly in sleep.

Who could have thought that this ethereal beauty of a King would love _him,_ want to belong to _him?_ Waking up every morning and letting the joy of this miracle wash over him, would be the best way to greet every single day of existence.

When Bard rolled over onto his back and looked up at the high, dark ceiling, he was surprised to see several shiny crystals embedded there, sparking in the natural light. He tilted his head slightly, and his brows drew together in concentration. Why did they seem familiar?

Ah… These crystals, varying in size, had been arranged into the same constellations seen in the night skies of Arda at the height of summer. Many nights Bard would lay on his back, looking at stars during his twice-weekly trips to Mirkwood. He would study them, as the night breeze wafted over him, before the sounds of the water and the forest would gently lull him to sleep.

The sheets rustled as his husband stirred beside him. Thranduil turned on his side and reached out for him, eyes closed. Bard shifted over next to him, and pulled the Elf's warm arm over his chest, and enjoying the feel of their legs tangling together. He loved touching Thranduil, but lying here under the sheets and blankets with him, cocooned like this, was a delight.

He studied the constellations and found the Netted Stars. It was the easiest to find both here, and in the clear night sky. When he was a boy on his father's fishing boat, this was the first constellation Brand ever showed him. From there, he easily located his favorite grouping of stars. Some call that one the Lover, but his Da always called it the Archer, because it looked like someone wielding a bow. Each summer, the children would take turns on his barge, and when he pointed this one out, he would tell them stories about their Grandad.

What was different about this? If these ceilings were so high, how could he clearly make out every facet of those crystals? As an archer, he was always thankful for his keen eyesight, but even this couldn't possibly—

Could it?

The sleepy head of his husband moved onto his shoulder and soft, warm lips kissed his collarbone. "Have I told you how wonderful it is to wake up with you, _Meleth nîn?"_

"Not today, you haven't."

"Haven't I?" Thranduil whispered, eyes closed. "I love being in your arms, and holding you in mine." He snuggled his head into his Bowman's chest, as he hummed in contentment and they both relaxed together with soft words and sweet touches.

Bard turned his head to kiss Thranduil's brow. "I am going to hate sleeping alone this winter, love."

"As am I. I will never again think of this bed as anything but ours, and I will reach for you in the night, and be heartbroken that you aren't there." Thranduil sighed, he light grey eyes looking sad. "But I will remind myself that it is temporary."

"Do you think it will help?"

"I fear not."

"Me either." Bard kissed his hand. "But I'm here now, and you will be coming back with me to Dale, for two weeks. And I'll visit. We will get through it."

"We must. And we will." Thranduil kissed his nose, and settled his head back down on Bard's shoulder, entwining his fingers. "We will spend much time apart, seeing to our people. We cannot change that."

"But, compared to how long we'll have together, that's temporary. I need to get used to thinking of my life the way you do. That's going to take some adjustment…"

Thranduil chuckled to himself.

"What's so funny, Elf?"

"When I had Thorin locked up here, I told him, "A hundred years is a blink of an eye, to an Elf."

"Is that really true?" Bard asked, curious.

"Perhaps. I only know how time feels for my kind."

Bard considered this, then said, "I was looking at your ceiling up there. It's amazing how they sparkle; I love it."

"I do, as well. It was gift from Mírelen."

"Really? It's a wonderful gift."

Thranduil smiled, and shifted onto his back to look up. "It is. She had arranged to have it done while we were visiting her parents in Rivendell. All Elves love the stars, Sindar especially revere them. The Silvans honor the words of Queen Varda, but they have a special devotion to Yavanna for she created the trees."

"My people have always thought of Ulmo, because of the water." Bard said. "Was it hard to see this after she died?"

"I...could not sleep in this room for a very long time."

"Really?"

Thranduil nodded. "I slept out on one of the couches. Galion changed the furniture and bedding, but even then, it was a struggle. Once I became stronger, and in no danger of fading, he insisted I move back in, to get better rest. I had told him to have the stars removed, but he refused, and promised me the day would come when I would find comfort in them."

"And did you?"

"Eventually. I have always found comfort and strength from the stars, and I learned to tell myself that this was her way of watching over me while I slept."

"I like that. I'm sure she is, love." Bard smiled at him. "Does it bother you as much to talk about Mírelen?"

"It still is a difficult, if I am to be honest, but I never want to stop trying. I _have_ to do this, for my own and Legolas's sake."

"You'll never quite get over it, so don't expect that," Bard warned.

"I agree. I think it is…a matter of getting used to it."

"It's the best you can hope for, but we can find different ways to make peace with it. When Percy would grab me by the collar and take me out on his boat, he was right; keeping my Mattie's memory alive does her honor, too."

"Is it strange to be talking so much about our wives?"

Bard looked at his husband, seriously, "Well, let me ask you: how do you feel, when I talk of Mattie?"

A pause, while the Elf considered. "I do not feel threatened by it."

"Exactly. Thranduil, our children need to know they can still think and talk about their mothers, even though you and I are together. The best way to do that is to make sure we learn about Mírelen and Mattie." Bard stroked his cheek. "If you loved her that much, she must have been wonderful; of course I want to know about her."

Thranduil's eyes shone, and he swallowed hard. He whispered, his breath wavering. "I love you so much, Bard."

" _Gi melin, Thranduil._ Always." And they kissed, slowly and sweetly.

They lay there in quiet contentment for some minutes. "I think there's something you should know, love."

Thranduil raised his head, "What is it?"

"Remember when Gandalf visited us the night we decided to get married?"

The Elf nodded.

"I had asked him whether I would gain the strength and speed of Elves?"

"Yes."

"I think I have, to some degree. Look up at the ceiling: see how high it is? Can you see every small detail in it?"

"Yes, of course." The Elf shrugged. "Why do you ask?"

"So, this is normal to you, then. Of course, you wouldn't notice. I think I should tell you - I see it, too. I have excellent eyesight; it's why I'm such a good archer. But, this is different…"

Thranduil sat up, looking down at him, with wide eyes. "Are you saying…" The Elvenking grinned gleefully and climbed over and, straddled him with his hands above his head. "That's wonderful, Bard!" Then he laughed, and gleefully exclaimed between kisses. "This is such a wonderful surprise!"

Bard laughed with him. "I don't know what it all means, though. Maybe we should go find Gandalf and ask about it."

"Yes! We absolutely should! This is amazing…" Thranduil flopped back down and stared at the ceiling again. "What will Mithrandir say when we tell him, do you think?"

Bard started to giggle, and couldn't stop.

"What are you laughing at, Meleth nîn?" Thranduil turned back on his side, propping his head up.

"You, you silly Elf! Look at you! If I didn't know better, I'd say you were positively giddy!" Bard was grinning from ear to ear. "When I think on how you were, when you first came to Dale, I would've never pictured this, in a thousand years!"

Thranduil stopped and looked at him, raising one eyebrow. "Giddy? I am giddy, you say?'

"Not at all like that haughty, arrogant Elf, riding into Dale that day." Bard smothered a grin. "You're so cute when you made that snooty-face."

His husband narrowed his eyes, indignant. "You dare to call me, Thranduil, King of the Woodland Realm, a 'Snooty-Face?'"

"Absolutely. I, Bard, son of Brand, Archer Extraordinaire, Dragonslayer, and King of Dale, do hereby call you the _snootiest_ of Snooty-Faces!" He stuck out his tongue and blew him raspberry. "There. My official proclamation."

Thranduil grabbed Bard, and began to tickle him. Soon they were rolling around on the bed, laughing, and trying to wrestle each other down, tickling each other. Turns out, Bard soon had the advantage, when he discovered that the Elf was even more ticklish than he was…

.

.

Galion's wedding gift to the Kings was to give them as much privacy as possible, before they had to return to Dale. There were a few arguments with some of the Council, and other members of staff, but he had laid down the law: _Under no circumstance_ were the King and his new husband to be disturbed, unless it be through him.

Now it was mid-morning, and Galion was carrying a tray with fruit, several kinds of sweetbreads, butter and hot tea. When he reached the door of the chambers, the guards opened the door to the main area, and, once he stepped in, he stopped and listened, with a puzzled frown.

Thumping. And laughter.

No, it didn't sound like…that. And the loud laughter, would not be in keeping with the type of noises a couple would make during sex.

He set the tray down on the dining table, furrowing his brow, and noticed that the door to Thranduil's bedchamber was slightly open. Curious as to what the noise was, he tiptoed over to see what the ruckus was all about…

Then he smiled, and softly made his way back to the main doors, checking to see if the silencing spell was still in place. As he stepped through the doorways, past the guards, he could hear nothing. Ah, perfect...

Reiterating to the guards that the Royal couple were not to be disturbed, and to allow none but himself to pass, he grinned widely as he entered his study to start work for the day. Sitting down at his desk, he began to laugh at the ridiculousness of what he saw in the King's bedchamber, when he peeked in…

There, on that great bed, Bard and Thranduil were holding hands, nude and full of fun and laughter…

…and jumping up and down on the bed.


	24. Chapter 24

15

 **Chapter Twenty-Four**

SUMMARY: Thranduil and Bard spend another wonderful day in each other's arms. Later, the new Consort was introduced to Thranduil's Council members, before they proceeded to the Feast, where the food was plentiful, and the wine flowed freely...

...a little too freely, as it turned out.

Thranduil learns to cope with his memories a bit better, as he tells his new husband the story of Legolas's birth. And Bard learns just how intense "the Elf Thing" can get!

.

.

 **The Woodland Realm; 20th of December, 2941 T.A.**

Thranduil had originally planned to show Bard more of the Palace today, but his husband had other ideas.

"I love it here, alone with you," Bard kissed his hand, and rubbed his thumb into Thranduil's palm. "I hope you're not disappointed; I don't want to share you with anyone yet."

Thranduil fingered the wedding ring on Bard's hand, and kissed it. "No, _Meleth nîn_. I am not disappointed. You make me happy."

He got up and brought the tray with the breakfast food, and they sat in bed and fed each other. They took a long warm soak in the bathing pool, and they discovered the delights of lovemaking surrounded by warm water and each other. The skin on their fingers was wrinkled when they emerged from the bath, and they dried and combed each other's hair, before climbing into the giant bed, to cuddle and share their thoughts, and learn more about each other's lives.

 _These have been some of the best days of my life…._ Thranduil sighed, as he watched his Bowman nap. The tired and careworn look had vanished, and his brow was smooth and beautiful. There were still lines around his mouth, when he smiled, and the corners of his eyes crinkled when he laughed, but Thranduil loved them.

Smiling at his husband's sleeping face, Thranduil drifted off, too, holding Bard's hand to his chest.

.

All too soon, it was time to get up, and get ready to meet the Council.

"Come, _Meleth nîn,_ I have a surprise for you." He pulled Bard toward the closet.

"What? Please tell me you aren't going to dress me in one of those robes… Thranduil, they're just not me."

"You are correct." He smirked at his husband, "However, you might like what is in there."

"All right, as long as there's nothing shiny or flamboyant. I'd look ridiculous."

Thranduil showed him a section of the clothing racks, where an entire wardrobe had been made for the King of Dale: Four tunics for every day and three for formal occasions, and six pair of calfskin leggings, three in black, one in dark blue, and two in different shades of brown.

There was fur-lined cloak for winter, some underclothes and two new pair of boots. "All this will be going back to Dale with you, Meleth nîn. The Tailor's Guild have your measurements, and soon this section will be filled with another wardrobe.

"You gave me space in your closet?" his husband teased, "I _must_ be important!"

"Ah, but, this is no longer _my_ closet; it is _ours_. There is more. Let me show you."

He led Bard to the vanity table and mirror, and gave him a new silver brush and comb set. They were plainer than Thranduil's to suit Bard's taste, along with a razor, with a strap to sharpen it, with soap and brush, to shave, should he like to.

"This is wonderful, love!"

"I am glad you like it." Thranduil held out a tunic in a sage color. "I chose the fabric myself. I think it matches your eyes even more than the robe I gave you. This green is the color of the leaves of my favorite tree."

"Is that the tree you broke your leg in when you were a child?"

"The very one. Here; put these leggings on." He handed Bard the dark brown ones.

Bard sat down on one of the stools and put on the underclothes and stockings, and tried on the outfit. "It feels like it fits nicely." He went before the looking glass. "I like this. Thanks so much, love."

"Let me see. Turn around for me… Yes, it's perfect. Now, sit here, and we shall attempt to tame this hair." He stood behind Bard and brushed and combed out his long hair, and carefully pulled the front of his hair into a fishtail braid, and tied it with a thin length of leather. "There." He smirked. "You are ready to be on display and stared at, _Hervenn nîn."_

Bard snickered. I've only ever been on display at the banquets in Erebor. Will it be like that?"

"Not at all. You will find the Elves have much better table manners." Thranduil sighed, as he gazed wistfully at their joined hands, "I have loved this time with you more than I can say, _Meleth nîn."_

"Me, too." Bard's expression turned serious. "We've both got busy jobs; so let's promise we'll always make time for each other."

Thranduil hummed his agreement. "We will need to."

"How did you handle it? I mean, there's so much… What did you and your wife do, when things got too burdensome?"

"Mírelen declared this apartment private; we had to leave our worries, and work at door of this apartment. She also encouraged me to go for a walk in the gardens when the workday was done. In our bedchamber, her rule was absolute; are only a husband and wife, not a King and Queen.'"

"Sounds like a good plan. I'll need something like that to help me keep balanced, even when I'm alone. Otherwise, I'll drown in all of it."

"You _will_ drown if you are not careful! There will always be more to do, Bard; learn the skill of 'stopping' when the day is done. Your family needs time with you, and," he smiled into those greenish eyes, "your new husband needs attention, as well."

"Hmmm…." Bard kissed him softly. "That alone is reason enough to abandon work entirely."

"A constant temptation. But alas; we must meet the Council, soon."

Once the Elvenking was dressed, he took his Bowman by the hand. "Shall we?"

"I'm as ready as I'll ever be."

.

The meeting went as well as the Elvenking had hoped; Bard's natural, easy charm, and his honest responses to their questions won them over. Though their respect for the King of Dale was still cautious, it was nonetheless genuine.

The feast that followed was also a success. When they were finished with their meal, Thranduil and Bard went around to all the tables, and those who spoke Westron were polite, and many expressed their eagerness and excitement at hosting his people over the winter – especially the children. Bard was grateful to hear it, and told them so.

"Come, Meleth nîn, there are some Elves I want you to meet." He took Bard's hand and led him over to a group of ellyth and ellyn at the table near the far right. "Bard, King of Dale, I would like to introduce you to Taenya, the head of our Tailor's Guild, here in the Woodland Realm, she personally fashioned your all your clothing."

Bard kissed her hand and thanked her for his new wardrobe, complementing her on their excellence. "You are a wonder, My Lady." Taenya, blushed and thanked him.

Thranduil guided him to another Elf sitting at the round table. "And this is Glélindë, Taenya's first assistant. It was she who repaired our Tilda's doll."

"I'm glad to meet you! Feren told me about your hard work, and Tilda was overjoyed to get her doll back," he saluted her with a huge grin. "Thanks to you, she's smiling again."

Feren's wife was attractive, with long auburn hair and grey eyes. When she smiled, she had a dimple on one of her cheeks as Bard described the scene of Tilda opening the box, and her joy at all the clothes.

"It was our pleasure, Lord Bard. We are glad she enjoyed it."

"It was thoughtful of your Guild to make those extra efforts," Thranduil added. "You have my thanks, as well."

.

After many, many toasts and congratulations had been made and drank to, and the newlyweds headed their to their chambers, with the Bowman leaning heavily against the Elvenking.

"Did you have a good evening, _Meleth nîn?"_ Thranduil had his arm around Bard's shoulders, gently guiding his steps.

Bard answered with boisterous enthusiasm, punctuated with wide arm movements. _"I DID!_ I had a grand ol' time. Your people are a right merrrry bunch! Verrry soshable… Not one snooty-face in the whooole bunsch…"

Thranduil laughed. "I am glad you think so. They like you, as well." He kissed Bard's hair. "Almost as much as I do. Did you eat enough?"

"Oh, I'm stuffed! The food was great. So was aaalllll the wine! I drank a lot of that too…" He grinned up at Thranduil happily. "Don't look at me like that! I had to! There were soooooo many toasts, and I had to be polite, didn't I?" Bard stumbled. "Whoops! You aren't gonna carry me, are you?"

"I wouldn't mind. You are no burden. I may have to, as you are leaning rather heavily against me. Did you limit yourself to the wine I gave you?"

"NnnnOPE!" Bard popped his 'p' loudly, and giggled at himself. "I had the GOOD stuff! Lots and lots of the good stuff!" Bard grinned and swung his arms wide again, smacking Thranduil in the chest.

After not a little maneuvering, they reached the doors of the King's chambers. They saluted, as one of the guards opened the door for them. Bard stopped and asked them for their names, while Thranduil, with an amused face, did his best to keep him standing.

"My name is Ivran, My Lord Bard." And the Elf bowed his head, politely. "It is my great honor to protect My King and his Consort."

"Well, I thank yoo, Very muchly." Bard wobbled, as he turned and pointed to the second guard. "And who might yoo be?" he asked, as he weaved to and fro.

The brown-haired ellon saluted him. "My name is Ruvyn, Lord Bard. May I offer you both my congratulations on your marriage."

"Yessch, you can! We're married, aren't we?" Bard turned to his husband for confirmation. "I did marry you!" Bard explained, "I made an honest Elf out of him!" He put his finger to his lips and whispered in a conspiratorial vioice to Ruvyn, "Shhhhhh! Don't tell anybody! It's a secret!"

Ruvyn's nose wrinkled slightly; the fumes from the King of Dale's breath could fell a horse, "You have my solemn vow, My Lord. Your secret is safe with us."

"Awww…. You're a good ppppaal…." Bard punctuated the statement with a loud, long belch. "OOOOPS!" He giggled, with his hand over his mouth.

Thranduil rolled his eyes. "I think I shall put my husband to bed now. Good night." He turned Bard away from them, and led him inside.

"Oh!" Bard slipped out of Thranduil's grip and stuck his head out the doorway. "Jusht sho yooo know… I didn't get him _pregnant!"_

 _Oh, Valar…_

"Come along, Bard; let these nice Elves get back to work," he yanked him inside, and led him into their bedchamber. "Come, _Hervenn nîn,"_ Thranduil sat him down on the bed, and removed his boots, "we need to get you out of these clothes, and get you into bed."

Bard, still smiling, obediently lifted his leg, so Thranduil could pull them off, then helped him remove his tunic, leggings and his underclothes.

"Do you need to use the necessary, Bard?"

"Nnnnope! I'm all set, love. Yep, Yep, Yep, I'm good…" Bard sang, grinning like mad.

Not grinning. _Leering_.

 _Oh, Valar…_

Thranduil's eyebrows shot up in fascinated alarm. "What are you looking at?"

"You, you, youyouyou… sexy Elf…" Bard pointed at him, waggled his eyebrows and patted the bed beside him.

"You cannot be serious!" he chuckled, as he hauled Bard up and settled him into a sitting position against the headboard. "How much did you drink, _Meleth nîn?"_

"Welllllll, while yoo were over talkin' to some of your Horsey people, the Smithies made sure my cup was full to the brim…. They were reel friendly-like, and weeee toasted everything we could think of!" Bard waved his arms, and flopped over on his side.

" _Ai gorgor…"_ he muttered, and went to fetch a pitcher of water and some cups. After making his Bowman drink a full glass, then he asked, "Are you sure you don't need to use the necessary? You will need help getting there. Perhaps I should take you..."

"I am quite shure. I'm a King!" he stuck his finger in Thranduil's face. "And Kings don' need to be told when to pee!"

Thranduil snickered, as he kissed Bard's brow. "Let me put your clothes away. I need to use the necessary, even if you do not."

Bard leered again, his gaze moving in a meaningful way up and down Thranduil's body.

"What?"

"What, What?" Bard slurred. "Can't I look at my pretty hubby with his long, long, long, long hair? And his long, long, longlong legs? And his longlonglong coc—"

"Looking is all you will manage this night, I am afraid. Now, let me take care of some things, and I will be back."

Bard blew a raspberry. "You're no fun."

"I shall struggle to live with the disappointment."

The Elvenking took care of his personal business, shed his clothes and put on his black robe, before he returned to the bedroom…

…where he found Bard sprawled sideways across the bed, face down in the mattress, with his hands and feet hanging over each side.

"How did you manage that?"

"Missed yoooooo..." his muffled voice spoke into the mattress. "Where'd ya go?"

"I told you. I had to take care of our clothes. Now, turn over before you suffocate."

Thranduil rolled him over and dragged him up toward the pillows again, as Bard mumbled and grabbed at his robe.

After Thranduil turned down the lamps, he took off his robe, and crawled into bed beside his drunken husband...

...who was still pawing at him. "But, but, but…aren't we gonna fool around?" Bard was still handsy, and managed to find his husband's groin with surprisingly little trouble.

" _Elo, Bard!_ Did you grow four more arms?" Thranduil slapped his hands away. "Now, go to sleep before I put a _losta-luith_ on you."

"Whassat? _Brrrrrrrrrph!"_ Bard belched again.

"A sleeping-spell, remember?"

"You wudddnn't!"

"I would, and I am sorely tempted to." He grabbed Bard's wrists. "Behave yourself, and get to sleep. Here." He rolled his Bowman away from him, pulled him close, and ran his hands soothingly over his arm, and his chest. "Relax, _Meleth nîn_." He continued to stroke Bard's arm, and spoke in low, soothing tones. "Relax, Bard. Go to sleep." At last, his husband's breath became deep and even.

"I do not envy the headache you will have in the morning." He whispered to Bard, as he kissed his temple gently. Then he settled himself, with this face nestled comfortably in the back of Bard's neck and started to drift off—

"Thranduil?" Bard mumbled.

"Yes, what is it?"

"I gotta pee…"

 _Oh, Valar…_

 **21st of December, 2941 T.A.**

Bard loudly snorted, startling himself awake, with a jerk. _Aaaagh! Ulmo's balls, my head hurts!_ He was lying spread-eagled on his back.

 _Ow ow ow ow OW OW OW!_ The Bowman mustered his courage, carefully opened one bleary eye.

Bad move. _Oh, shit… what the fiddler's fuck happened to my head?_

He covered his face with his pillow, to shield his aching eyeballs from the light in the room, and groaned loudly. Bad mistake. The echo ricocheted inside his skull with painful speed.

He tried to piece together the events of last night, but we winced. _Ow! Don't think. No thinking…_ Bard carefully rolled onto his stomach without moving his head at all. Didn't work. Another moan escaped his lips, and the noise stabbed the inside of his head. Which made him moan from the pain of his moan. _Oh, bloody fuck…_

Somebody was trying to torture him; it was the only explanation. He scrunched his eyes shut and buried his head.

 _Shit._ He had to use the necessary…

Slowly, _oh, so slowly_ he sat up, eyes still scrunched tightly. It didn't help. Hot needles stabbed his head, and the air in the room slammed hard into his eyelids, hoping to get inside and torture him some more. He pressed his fingers into his temples. _Oh, thank the Valar, that's better…_

"Bard?"

"Shh! Don't scream…" Bard whispered, wincing.

"I am not screaming at you, Meleth nîn." Thranduil's voice was amused, but he _did_ lower the volume quite a bit.

"Oh, bloody fuck. My head…" He grabbed his head. "I've gotta go…"

"All right, here. Let me help you."

Thranduil helped him stand up, and took him past the bathing room, to the necessary. All the while, Bard could've sworn some unseen Blacksmith was using his head as an anvil: _Bam, bam, bam, bam…_ It was his own heartbeat, cruelly betraying him by slamming loudly inside his head… _I'm dying; I'm actually dying..._

Bard's stomach turned over. _Oh, shit…_

He barely made it to the basin, before he vomited. And he still had to pee. And the vomiting made his head pound even harder, which made it hurt more, which made his stomach churn, and Oh, Valar Valar Valar...please help don't let me die... He held on to sides of the basin, and groaned, starting the cycle of pain and nausea all over again.

"Are you all right in there, Bard?"

"Nnnnghaaaaaa..."

"Do you need help?"

"No," he croaked. "Don't yell."

"I am terribly sorry. I will go to the sitting room…"

"No!" he jerked his head up, quickly. "OW!" He grabbed his head again. "Just…just… wait there, please…"

He somehow managed to get done what he needed to get done, and made it to the door, where his husband was waiting, with a smug expression. Bard was not amused. He tried to make a face at him, but all he managed was a grotesque sort of pull on one of his cheeks.

"You look terrible, Meleth nîn. Perhaps some breakfast might help. I shall have Galion prepare us some soft, poached eggs, nice and runny, bread with lots of butter and cheese…"

Bard clapped his hands over his mouth and dove into the small room again, slamming the door. Which nearly killed his head. Again.

"I think I hate you, Elf." He said, when he crawled out of the room again.

"I am sorry, Bard. I will stop. Here, let me help you." He put his arm around Bard and led him back to the bed, and sat him up against the pillows. "Here," he handed him a cup. "Drink it all."

Bard took a sip, and shuddered, violently. Which made the stabbing pains in his head much worse. "BLECH! " he yelled, and shuddered. "OW! " he grabbed his head with one hand and his stomach with another. "What are you trying to do, kill me? That stuff's disgusting! What is it?"

"An Elven hangover remedy. The more you drink, the faster it will work. Here."

Bard eyed him skeptically, took another drink, and shuddered. _"Aah!"_ He grabbed his temples again. "What did you put in this shit?"

"Oh, I am afraid I have been sworn to secrecy. Now, drink some more."

Bard managed a couple of more sips, before he handed the cup to Thranduil. "I'll throw up again, if I have to drink that stuff." He moaned. "I'll just to lie here quietly, and wait for Mandos…"

Thranduil's eyes narrowed. "Hold still."

He held his hand to Bard's brow, closed his eyes and murmured a few words, and _oh lovely, lovely…_ head stopped pounding and his stomach settled.

"Oh, thank you…" He flopped on the bed, eyes closed. "Thanks, love. That's so much better…"

"You are welcome." Thranduil kissed his brow and got up. He nearly made it to the door, when Bard opened his eyes, and sat up like a shot.

"Hey!"

Thranduil turned, his face the picture of wide-eyed innocence. "Yes?"

"You could've done that in the first place, you bastard! Instead you tried force that…that… swill down my gullet! Why didn't you do the spell first?" Bard threw a pillow at him.

"Bard, _what is it_ with you and pillows? You are continually throwing them at me, or hitting me with them." Thranduil expertly caught the projectile, and regarded him.

"You didn't answer my question!"

"Very well," Thranduil sighed, and arched his eyebrows. "I did it to teach you a lesson. Or exact revenge. Possibly both; I haven't decided, yet."

"What for? What did I do to deserve that?"

Thranduil strutted toward the bed. "The next time you are offered copious amounts of Dorwinian wine, you will use caution, will you not? That was the lesson."

"All right fine. I'll nurse my drinks, from now on. And the revenge?"

"The next time you are inebriated, and you need the necessary, you will either aim much more carefully, or you will clean up your mess yourself." He smirked and threw Bard's pillow, fast as an arrow, hitting him dead in the face. "I'll see you at breakfast once you're dressed." And he turned and left the bedchamber.

After Bard took care of his personal business (and cleaned up the mess), he joined his husband for their morning meal. Contrary to Thranduil's threats, there were no runny, soft eggs. As they ate, Thranduil stubbornly refused to tell Bard what was in that awful drink, but he did share the story behind it.

.

It was the same recipe Galion used on him in his youth. Feren had dared Thranduil to sneak into the wine cellars, and steal some of his father's Dorwinian. The two young Elves took it behind one of the barns and drank it all. After their fathers found them, passed out, surrounded by empty bottles, King Oropher asked Galion to give them the "hangover remedy." It actually did nothing, except make them sicker, but they learned their lesson. Years later, Galion had told Thranduil this "remedy" had been administered to King Oropher himself in his wayward youth (to Galion, too, although he hated to admit it).

.

Their last morning was spent wandering around the Palace at a leisurely pace, followed by a trip to the barns, where Thranduil showed him a young elk, whose rack was a fraction of the size of the one Thranduil had ridden in the Battle.

"This is the offspring of my Elk that was killed." He patted the young bull's neck. "It will be years before he will be ready to ride." Thranduil sighed. "I loved his father, and I will miss him."

"I saw you with him, during the battle, Thranduil. It was magic, the way you two worked together." Bard told him. "I've never seen anything like it."

"His name was Bara-Maethor, which means 'Fiery Warrior' in my language. I believe this young one has the same fiery spirit, and will grow to be even stronger than his father." The young Elk nudged Thranduil's arm, trying to get into his pockets.

" _A, Mellon…"_ Thranduil took an apple out of his pocket and gave it to him, petting his neck as he enjoyed the treat. "You do not miss a thing, do you?"

"Do you actually talk to the animals, like you do the trees?" He asked Thranduil as they walkedto the Palace. "I could swear you and that bull elk were having a conversation."

"We were. Elves have enjoyed a close relationship with animals, trees and all growing things."

"You said Tauriel liked cats, especially?"

"Yes. We enjoy them, and they keep the Palace clear from vermin."

"Do you have dogs? I haven't seen any. At least, not yet."

"We use them for hunting, and many keep them as pets. Legolas had several when he was younger. Even with our Elven magic, cats and dogs do not live long in our time, but we still enjoy them."

"What about you? Didn't you have pets?"

"No. I did not have time, and I was so busy. Or, at least that was the excuse I used." He sighed. "I probable would have been better, had I had one."

"It's in the past, love." Bard put his arm around him. "Look to the future, not the past."

Before they returned to the King's chambers, Bard took Thranduil by the hand and went in to the children's apartment, again. This time, he even sat down on the bed, while Bard sat with him, rubbing his arm, and asking more questions about Mírelen, urging him to speak of her.

"Tell me about when Legolas was born. He was born in this bed, wasn't he?"

"Yes…" Thranduil's eyes widened, then the corners of his mouth slowly curved upward. "That is a nice memory."

"Tell me about it."

"Mírelen was twelve months along, and Legolas was due any day…"

"Is that normal for Elves?" Bard whistled. "By the time Mattie was nine months along she was huge... But twelve months? Poor thing."

"Elves carry their young for twelve months, and those last days were trying for both of us." Thranduil winced. "She was grumpy, and would burst into tears at the strangest things… Once she yelled at me because I put my dirty clothing in the hamper the wrong way, and she cried because she yelled. And she would want to eat unusual things, especially in the middle of the night. She was tired of it, towards the end."

"Oh, I know what that's about. Mattie was ready to spit nails, she was so sick of being pregnant. Her feet hurt, and she never comfortable enough to sit, stand or sleep, either."

A fond, faraway expression came over the Elf's face. "Shortly before he was born, I came into our chambers to find our closet and drawers emptied, and our clothing all over the floor."

"Ah. The midwife and Hilda called that 'nesting.' I'll bet that was a sight."

"It was! I did not know what to say; she had been so irritable lately, I was afraid to upset her. Then she became angry with me because I did not say anything!"

"Did she get things put away?"

"No. Once she got everything out of the closet and drawers, she sat on the chair and started to cry. I couldn't calm her down, so I sent for the Elénaril, her Healer. I was afraid something was wrong, but she told me it was what you had said - the 'nesting' - and it meant that the baby would come soon. We put her to bed, and I rubbed her back until she fell asleep, while the midwife sent for some handmaidens to clean up the mess. Legolas was born two days later."

"Were you there when he was born?"

"I tried to be. She yelled at me when I touched her, and she yelled at me when I wasn't touching her. She called me filthy names for getting her into that condition in the first place." Thranduil chuckled to himself, and shook his head. "Did your Mattie use foul language?"

"I wouldn't know. Hilda shoved me in Percy's direction and wouldn't let me anywhere near the place."

"Perhaps she had the right idea." Thranduil laughed. "I did not fare so well, either."

"What do you mean? Did the midwife kick you out, too?"

"Not...exactly. She called for Galion to come get me."

"Why was that?"

Thranduil gave him a sidelong glance. "You will laugh."

"You mean…" Bard gasped, "you didn't... did you?"

Thranduil nodded sheepishly.

" _You did!"_ Bard snorted. "All right. I'm sorry." He jabbed Thranduil with his elbow. "Don't feel too bad. I suppose that's why Hilda would never let me around. I'd have done worse than faint, I promise you."

Thranduil laughed, and shook his head. "I still do not understand it." He marveled. "I have never been squeamish, but when Mírelen strained with a strong contraction and cried out, everything went black, and I woke up in my study, and Galion was wiping my face with a cold cloth"

"It's always different when it's someone you love." Bard whispered, "So, Legolas was born in this bed. Tell me about it."

"Galion and I stayed in my study, and we paced the floor for hours. I think I crushed poor Galion's hand at one point. But I shall never forget the first time I heard my son cry."

The serenity on the Elf's face made him even more beautiful. "I wanted to go to her immediately, but Galion assured me I needed to wait, until they were ready. After a short while, the midwife sent for us, and we went in to see them…"

"On this bed."

"Yes." He patted the mattress and his eyes traveled around the bed frame. "They were here, bathed and clean, and Mírelen's hair was braided down one shoulder and tied up in a blue ribbon. Blue was her favorite color; did I tell you that? She was in a clean nightgown, and in her arms, wrapped in a white blanket, was the tiniest Elf I had ever seen."

"I'll bet he was beautiful."

"He was. His hair was like spun gold. He had been sleeping, but when he opened his eyes… I remember thinking how they matched the ribbon in his mother's hair. I saved the ribbon; I put it in a box and keep it in my closet. I have not looked at it in a long time, but it is a treasured possession..." He turned to Bard and kissed him softly. "Thank you, _Meleth nîn."_

"Nothing compares to meeting your child for the first time." Bard leaned his head on the Elf's shoulder. "Even with Tilda, the pain of losing my wife didn't stop me from falling in love with her. In some ways it was more, because she was my last link to Mattie."

"One day, we will have grandchildren to fall in love with, _Meleth nîn."_

"I look forward to it."

.

.

They got up, holding hands, and Thranduil led him into the bedchamber. Soon, they both were free of clothing, and plundering each other's mouths, as they fell onto the bed and began to caress each other, moaning softly. Bard took the oil and prepared his husband, whose breath quickened as he babbled in Sindarin.

"I love you, Bard," the Elvenking gasped.

Bard kissed him hard, with a low, feral grunt, Thranduil grabbed Bard and flipped him onto his back, straddled him, and moaned, as he slowly lowered himself down.

"You are a beautiful sight, you know that?" Bard breathed. "I can't believe you're all mine." He ran his hands over the Elf's chest, and teased his nipples. "I love you so much."

"You are perfect Bard. It is I who is blessed to have you." Thranduil kissed him thoroughly, then sat up and began to move. This was a new position, and from the noises the Elf was making, he enjoyed it as much as Bard did.

Thranduil pulled him up and held him close as they reached their orgasm at the exact same moment. He grasped and clawed at Bard desperately and roared in ecstasy, as his Bowman's fingernails dug mercilessly into his flesh.

Magical, was the only word to describe it. The lights were bright, and full of light and color; it truly was almost too much, but he wanted more of it.

After many minutes of joy, he sighed as he slowed his movements. He leaned down to kiss his beloved Bowman, but his face had gone a bit pale—

"Bard? Are you all right?"

His husband opened his mouth to speak, but his eyes rolled into the back of his head, and he fell onto the pillows.

" _Bard!"_ He leaned down and held his face in alarm. " _Please answer me!"_

The Elvenking quickly crawled to the side, pulled the pillows out from under his head, to place them under his feet. _"Bard?"_

After a few moments, his Bowman opened his eyes. "I'm sorry..." he said weakly. "I think... I just sort of…blacked out for a second…"

Thranduil grabbed a glass of water and, after soaking one of the washcloths by the bed, he sponged off his husband's face and made him take a sip. "Is this better?"

"I'll never joke about 'mind-blowing' sex again…" The Bowman grinned, closing his eyes again. "That was…"

"'Mind-blowing?'" Thranduil quipped.

"Shut up, you."

"Are you sure you are all right?"

"Aye, I am. I'm just…" Bard took a deep breath, and laughed. _"Holy shit, Thranduil!_ That was so intense!" Bard rubbed his hand over his face. "It was like our wedding night, almost."

"I was thinking the same. Was it too much?"

"Bite your tongue, Elf. You will never be too much for me." Bard gave him a lop-sided grin, as he tugged his hair. "Great way to end our honeymoon, wasn't it?"

 **ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:**

 _hervenn nîn_ \- my husband

 _Meleth nîn_ \- my love

 _Losta-Luith_ \- sleeping spell


	25. Chapter 25

13

 **Chapter Twenty-Five**

 **SUMMARY** : On the journey to Dale, Bard learns some of the lore of Middle Earth, and a bit about Thranduil's forest.

And Tilda completes her Very Important Mission – with a little help from her friends.

.

.

 **The Road to Dale; 21st of December, 2941 T.A.**

The journey to Dale was blessedly free from incident, thanks to the protection of Thranduil's troops and the Guardians monitoring them in the trees. Bard missed his children, yet four days wasn't enough to discover the joys and private pleasures with his new Elven husband. But there was Kinging to be done, a City to build, and people whose survival depended upon him.

His eyes traveled instinctively where they have always gone of late: toward his tall, beautiful husband, sitting straight and proud in his saddle. His black stallion, _Naurmôr_ was beautifully attuned to his master, only needing minimal movements and signals. When they came to a clearing along the road, the sun shone brightly, and, despite the cold, Thranduil tilted his head back, closed his eyes, and his mouth curved upward in a peaceful smile, as the sun warmed his face.

Bard was captivated.

"What do you stare at, _Hervenn nîn?"_ the Elf opened one eye.

"You." Bard grinned.

"Do you know the story of the sun, _Meleth nîn?"_

"Is it interesting?"

"I think so. The legends tell us the Sun was made from a single piece of fruit from one of the Two Trees that Yavanna and Nienna created. The Trees were said to be indescribably beautiful; one shining a silver light, and one gold. Laurelin was the name of the second, golden tree. They shone in Valinor for thousands of years, but, sadly, Melkor sought to destroy them, with Ungoliant the spider's help, but Yavanna and Nienna were able to produce a single piece of fruit from Laurelin, before she died.

"To keep this fruit of golden fire safe, Aulë and his people made a ship, and they chose a Maia named Arien, to sail the vessel into the sky, out of Melkor's reach forever. As she sailed, Middle Earth saw its very first dawn. The Silver tree was named Telperion, and a single piece of its fruit had also been saved. A Maia named Tilion was given the task of taking the silver fruit into the sky thus giving Middle Earth its Moon.

Arien's pace across the sky is always steady, but Tilion's journey with the Moon, is more impetuous."

"Why is that?"

"They say Tilion is in love with Arien, and that is why sometimes you see the sun and the moon in the sky at the same time, and also why the moon can be closer to us or farther away. Melkor hated the light, and has tried to destroy them, but Tilion fought his minions off and they are safely out his reach forever.

"I like this story. Does the Sun have a name?"

"Yes. Her name is Anor. We Elves have a devotion to the stars, as well as all living things, but we honor Anor and the life she gives to our forest. The trees sing a beautiful song when she shines on a clear, bright day."

"So, you weren't just enjoying the warmth of the sun; you were listening to the trees, too?"

Thranduil's face was serene. "Yes. They give me life and peace."

"I'm sorry so much of your forest is sick, love. How can you stand it?"

His husband sighed. "With great difficulty, Bard. My Kingdom used to be so vast and full of life, until the sickness came. I had to abandon much of it, and move North to keep my people safe. I had no choice; but it still felt cruel." Thranduil's eyes clouded. "I must be strong for my people, and the parts of the forest I am still able protect, though I grieve for the trees we could not save."

Bard's chest ached through their bond. "That must have been awful."

"I pray for the day when my land will be restored, and the forest will be a happy place once more, but I foresee little change until our final War with Sauron."

"You said the trees are your friends; can anything be done to help them?"

"There is, thankfully. I summoned Radagast and Mithrandir, when the forest began to get sick, and begged them to help in some way. It was for our self-preservation, as well, Bard. To constantly listen to their pain and their misery was enough to drive an Elf mad; even more so with the Silvan Elves! The decay was sapping our own strength. After trying several things, Radagast finally suggested the sick trees be put to sleep. It would not hurt them in any way, but it would spare them the years of torment. He spent many years traveling through Mirkwood, easing their pain."

Thranduil rolled his eyes. "Yes, I know I despise the name, but when one spends enough time in those parts of the forest, it is easy to see why my cousin Celeborn called it so. I did not appreciate it, but the name stuck. He has since apologized, and promised me, when the time is at hand, he and his wife will help to clear this land of this evil."

"At least he wants to make it right."

After Thranduil mumbled something unintelligible, he continued the story. "It took Radagast almost fifty years to put the majority of the sick trees to sleep. The relief was enormous for us; they no longer cried out in anguish, and we could focus on the still-healthy forest and gain strength from it. When the Wizard returned, he was weak from all his efforts, and spent five years in the Palace recovering. Radagast is ever a friend to my Kingdom, and I hope he lives to see the fruits of his labors."

"What if more trees get sick?"

"Oh, they have, more every year, but Radagast keeps close watch over this forest, and its wildlife. He has always concerned himself with the flora and fauna of Middle Earth. He and Beorn, the Skin Changer, are great friends, and often work together. Radagast is acquainted with his entire family."

"Wait… I was told Beorn was the last Skin Changer on Middle Earth?"

"Ah. Well, as a King, you are to be trusted with this important secret: he is _not_ the last. When Azog and his minions were alive, he hid his family away, so they would not be enslaved. No one knows where they are, save Mithrandir and Radagast; Beorn cannot know, lest he is captured. When the time is right, he will be reunited with them. It was the only way to ensure his race."

"It must be agony, to be separated, with no word."

"Ah, well; you forget Radagast can talk to birds, _Meleth;_ he makes sure the Skin Changer keeps in touch."

The Bowman's eyebrows lifted as he shook his head. "Until a few weeks ago, Beorn was just a story my Da told me. So many legends came to life in that Battle; it's amazing."

"It is small compensation, for all the death and destruction."

"It is. Nevertheless, we're here now, and things are how they are. My Da taught me never to play the 'what if' game with myself. He called it 'should-ing' all over yourself."

Thranduil snickered. "I think I would have enjoyed your Da's company."

"I miss him, but I like to think he's with Mattie and my Mam. It helps, sometimes."

"I am sure they look forward to seeing your children again."

"Well, my mother never met my children. She died of a fever when I was eleven, and Da only knew Sigrid as a baby, before he passed."

"I am sorry," the Elf's eyes were sympathetic. "What did he think of his granddaughter?"

"Oh, he adored her! He had a collection of old keys on a ring, to jangle them in front of her; it was her favorite toy. After he died, I found them amongst his things, and I set it aside for Sigrid, along with my mother's jewelry for both the girls. They were hardly worth anything, but they were priceless to me."

"You lost them in the fire?"

"It's probably all gone." Bard said in a matter-of-fact tone.

"I am sorry."

"Me, too." He lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. "Hey, no more 'what-ifs,' right? It's a beautiful day, we survived, and here we are." A thoughtful smile spread across his face. "I don't need things to keep my parents alive in my heart."

Thranduil shook his head, as his mouth curved upwards. "I am amazed at you, Meleth nîn."

"Oh? What did I do this time?"

"I am old - many would say ancient - yet you, in your short life, have more wisdom than I do in these matters, and I am glad of it." Thranduil moved his stallion closer. "Do not doubt we are an equal partnership, Bard. You bring me as much as I hope to bring you, and I am grateful."

" _Gi melin, Thranduil."_

Soon, the party came to the edge of the forest, and past the boundaries of Thranduil's Kingdom. After another hour, the scarred, broken walls of Dale, loomed in the distance.

Thranduil must have noticed his concern. "I know it is in ruins, now, but your Kingdom will soon be a beautiful place, and your people will live full and happy lives," the Elf told him. "I am proud to be at your side as the Consort of Dale."

Thranduil's words touched his heart, and he tried to shake off the self-doubt that threatened to ruin his hope for the future. Much was lost, but with the pain, came a dream he had never imagined for his people. Would he live up to the Valar's trust in him? Could he ever thank them enough for his tall, indescribably beautiful husband?

As the gates of Dale grew near, Thranduil asked in a worried voice, "Why do they make noise, Bard? Is Dale being attacked?"

"I don't know, but we'd better find out!" Bard nudged his horse into a run, and Thranduil gave the command for the troops to follow them. The wagon, carrying supplies was left behind with an escort, while the rest ran ahead, hearts thrashing against their ribs.

"Come on!" He nudged his horse even faster, and his white stallion flew over the ground, with Thranduil at his side. Galion and the Elven escort kept up the pace as well, swords drawn, bows at the ready.

As they approached the gates of Dale, the shouting got even louder. The Kings and company marshaled their courage to prepare for the worst, as the Gates opened—

They were cheering. His people were lined up on either side of the streets into the City to celebrate the return of the King of Dale and his new husband.

Bard was stunned, and his frown turned into a surprised grin as everyone quickly sheathed their swords and put their bows away. Thranduil's troops fell behind the King of Dale and his new Consort, in pairs, and the procession slowly made its way through the streets as the people shouted, and the women waved their handkerchiefs.

Bard's throat began to hurt, and he had to swallow a few times. This, for _him?_

Thranduil moved his _Naurmôr_ closer and briefly squeezed his hand. "They have always loved you, Bard. You were their King before any title was bestowed upon you. You deserve this." The Elvenking lifted Bard's hand to his lips, and the crowd cheered even louder.

After clearing is throat, the Bowman found his voice again. "It's not just my people here, love. Look!" And yes, there was Thranduil's Army, lining up behind the people of Laketown, in full armor, saluting their own King and cheering their own congratulations as well. Thranduil the contours of the Elvenking's cheeks lifted and turned pinkwith happiness at everyone's acceptance and support.

Hilda, Percy and the children came into view to the left, next to Feren, who saluted them, while balancing a small girl with curly blond hair on his hip. Next to him Tauriel did the same, with another blonde girl who was obviously her sister.

"Da!" Tilda screamed and let go of Percy's hand. "Thrandool!" and raced over to Thranduil. Sigrid yelled after her, but the Elvenking stopped his horse, picked Tilda up to set her in front of him, and whispered into her ear. She giggled up at him, as she lifted her hand and regally waved to the crowds.

They continued their parade until they went past the Camps, and into the city. In the four days they'd been gone, the streets were clear of rubble and had been swept clean! The Men and Elves followed them all to the Courtyard, in front of the Great Hall, where the Kings and company dismounted and walked up the steps to the dais in front of the newly-repaired doors.

With Thranduil translating in Sindarin, the King of Dale expressed their sincere thanks for the welcome, and for the work they had accomplished.

"I know you've heard rumors of Lord Thranduil's invitation this winter, and after visiting the Palace, I have given my approval. I cannot, and I will not, put our women, children, the injured or the elderly at risk during these harsh winter months. King Thranduil has generously invited you to stay warm in his Palace in the Woodland Realm. In addition, he and his Elves will provide training for the skills needed to set up new businesses in Dale. Also - and this is important to me, as my late wife, Mattie, was a teacher - the Elves of the Woodland Realm will be setting up a school for our children, and providing lessons for any adult who wishes to learn to read and write! No longer will our people live in ignorance!

"The caravans will leave in twelve days. I hate the idea of separating for this winter, but I promise you, after next spring, we will never be divided again!"

His speech was met with enthusiastic cheers, applause, and a few hats were thrown into the air.

Bard turned to Thranduil, who stepped forward: "I thank you, good people of Dale. I am honored by the welcome received by my husband and myself. It was quite the surprise!" They all laughed, and when a few called out "Kiss him already!" the rest of them agreed, so Thranduil held his Bowman's face and gave him a quick and chaste kiss, to many hoots and catcalls.

.

.

Thranduil was so captivated by the radiance on Bard's face, he leaned in to kiss him again. They hadn't wanted pomp or ceremony, but wasn't it lovely to revel in well-wishes of their people? Still another reason why this Bowman was such a miracle.

Behind them, the doors to the Great Hall opened and the Kings followed Hilda, Percy, and the rest of the family inside.

Hilda and Ben had been busy! The floor of the Great Hall was neatly swept, and there were obvious signs of repair. Several loads of slate tile had been brought from Erebor, and the nimble, sure-footed Elves skillfully installed it on the Dome to make it water- and weatherproof. While this was being done, Hilda supervised the repairs to the interior, and beyond.

As they walked throughout the large room with its carved pillars, Thranduil shared his memories of the Kings who had supervised its construction. Elves had helped to design and build the castle – it was before the Dwarves had come to the Lonely Mountain. He showed Bard some carvings along the beams, signifying the different industries and crafts made in Dale at one time. Bard found them fascinating and Thranduil enjoyed walking him around, pointing out details his husband might find interesting, and sharing its history.

"This is incredible!" the Bowman studied the carvings. "Thank you, so much; I love this."

"Remember, _Meleth nîn,"_ he lifted his hand to caress Bard's jaw. "I did not bestow this upon you; Dale has always been yours. As I told you, the moment you walked into this city with your people, you became a King."

"Sometimes I can't believe this is all real," Bard's eyes threatened to overflow, and his voice grew rough. "You're wrong, you know; you _did_ give all this to me. It was you, just as much as my ancestry. Even more so, I think."

"Why do you say this? I merely speak the truth. Dale was destined to be yours at birth."

Bard stepped closer, and put his hand on the Elf's chest. "Would you have sought me out and helped me, if I wasn't worthy to lead these people? Suppose I was a criminal of some sort?"

"You _were_ a criminal, Bard," he smirked. "You were a smuggler, were you not?"

"Aye, but there's criminals and then there's _criminals_ like the Master. What if I was a sniveling liar like Alfrid, what would you have done?"

Thranduil considered this. "You are right, _Meleth nîn;_ I would have ousted someone like the Master. But, to quote your father, let us not play at 'what ifs.'" He squeezed Bard's hand. "No one in all of Middle Earth is more deserving," he murmured, as he pressed their foreheads together.

"I love you so much," his Bowman whispered.

"Are you boys done mooning over each other, yet?" Hilda came over to them, hands on hips, "There's more to see, you know; come on."

She led them to the back of the Hall, through the doorway, into the passages beyond. "Percy came across all this when he was checking the building, and the minute you two decided to get married, Galion and I made some plans and arranged for some shipments..."

To their right was a long hall with several rooms. "We've set up the infirmary down there behind the kitchens, so the heat from the ovens and such will keep the sick rooms warm. Some of the older men have been set up, here, too; the rooms are big enough to hold four beds each, and the fireplaces keep the chill from their bones."

To the left, was the entrance of another wide corridor, with several rooms on either side, and a wide set of double-doors at the end of it.

"Now, eventually these all will house the Castle servants and staff. Our rooms will all be on the second floor, but these will do for us nicely, until the builders finish with the Castle."

"Hilda! You and Percy should have been working on the—"

"Oh, hush; this is what you get for putting me in charge of the Castle, love." she beamed.

The Kings followed her down the long hall, and opened the double-doors, where the children were huddled and waiting.

"Surprise!" They shouted and clapped. Tauriel and Galion stood behind them, grinning.

"Come and see!" Tilda grabbed their hands and pulled them further into the room.

Thranduil's big bed had been set up along the back wall off to the left, along with his side tables. To the left of the bed by the window, was a wardrobe and a tall dresser Galion had sent to hold Bard's things. Thranduil's own wardrobe and trunks were set up on the wall opposite the bed. To their right, Thranduil's chairs had been placed in front of a large fireplace, and his rugs were strewn on the stone floor. Lamps were lit, and there were many touches to make it as homey as possible. It was rustic, but comfortable, and it suited his Bard perfectly. There was a door past the fireplace for the privy, and his commode chair was there, along with his bathtub and washstand.

Thranduil bowed before the Seneschal, kissed her hand. "I thank you, Lady Hilda. What a wonderful wedding gift!"

Hilda had the grace to curtsy and say, "You are welcome, Lord Thranduil. Thank Galion, too; he was in charge of scrounging up all the furniture and sending it here without you noticing."

"It is true, My Lord," One corner of Galion's mouth turned upwards in a half-grin. "Hilda gets things, done, to be sure. Let us show you the rest."

On the South side of the corridor was a room for the girls, next to one for Bain, and Feren's study/bedchamber. On the North side, were Galion's and Tauriel's rooms, along with one for Hilda and Percy. Each bedroom had proper beds, wardrobes, dressers and such. There were small privies and bathing rooms on both on each side of the Hall, as well as a linen cupboard, which was fully stocked.

Past the bedrooms near the entrance, offices had been set up on opposite sides for Bard and Thranduil, with chests, meeting tables and chairs.

"Old Ben and his men made sure all the fireplaces work, too, so there's no need to worry on that score." Hilda told them. "Percy's going to try and set him up in your study after you leave, Thranduil, so he can lay out his drawings and blueprints."

"Ben's may use it now, if he needs to; his work is too important, and I can manage from our bedchamber."

"I'll tell him. He's in one of the rooms yonder, but this will give some space for someone else who might need it."

"This is bloody brilliant!" Bard swept Hilda into his arms and twirled her around in gratitude. "I was worried what we'd do after we got back, but you've outdone yourself!"

And Galion; I know she couldn't have done it without you." Bard have the Chief Aide an Elven salute. "I see why Thranduil calls you his right hand."

"The pleasure is mine, Lord Bard." Galion nodded graciously. "Lady Hilda designed all of this; I merely supplied what she asked for."

Bard came and put his arm around Thranduil's waist. "Tauriel, Sea Monsters, thank you for helping. I'm proud of all of you."

"As am I," the Elvenking said.

The group hug that came next was their version of "Your Welcome."

.

After dinner, when everyone else was settled in their beds, Thranduil and Bard relaxed on the fur rug by the fire in their bedroom, with Bard's head in his lap. As he was combing his fingers through his husband's black curls, he whispered. "Welcome home, _Meleth nîn._ Thank you for making me part of your family."

Bard took his hand, and kissed each of his fingers. "I still don't know why I've been so blessed… Two months ago, I thought my life would always be about the boat, and scrounging to keep my children fed, and too many times there wasn't enough."

"Oh, _Meleth nîn..."_ Thranduil murmured. "That must have broken your heart."

"It was already broken, because Mattie was gone. There wasn't any reason to hope for better... Now, here we are, and I want to pinch myself to make sure this is real!"

"Yes, my Bard. It is _very_ real, and so am I." He pulled his Bowman up to sit and kissed his brow, his eyes, his nose, and cheeks. "You have given me a new life; you have made all the colors in it brighter. It is _I_ who wonder if _you_ are real."

Bard got up, took him by the hand, and led him to the bed. It was quite a while and many pleasures later, before they finally fell asleep in each other's arms.

.

 **22nd of December, 2941 T.A.**

The next morning, after breakfast with the children, Bard went to see Old Ben, and the children went to their various places for the day: Bain to his lessons with Tauriel, Sigrid to help the Healers, and Tilda to the Children's Tent.

Thranduil's morning meeting was with Feren, to discuss how things went in the Camp while he was gone, and go over the rotation of the duty rosters over the winter, for the troops. Feren was a capable leader; only minor changes needed to be made, a bit of tweaking here and there, and most matters were settled.

"I have been told you and your wife would like to adopt two of the orphans, _Mellon_. I assume they are the little girls you and Tauriel were with yesterday?" Thranduil crossed his arms with an expectant grin. "They are enchanting. Tell me about them."

Feren shook his head. "It just…happened, Sire. I went to visit the children one day, and Lady Bronwyn directed me toward the orphans, to keep them company. These two beautiful little girls were sitting together holding hands, looking frightened and sad… Something inside made me swear I would never let anything else happen to them, that my joy for the rest of their lives would be found in their smile… I cannot really explain it…"

"I think you just did, rather beautifully. You have become a father.

"I have spoken my intentions to Lady Hilda..."

Thranduil sympathized. "And?"

"She asked many questions about my life in the Woodland Realm and as a soldier. Neither she nor the girls have met Glélindë yet, so Lady Hilda promised she would visit with her and inspect our home. I would like to request to accompany the caravan to the Woodland Realm, so I might introduce the girls to Glélindë, and we could meet with her together. I am most eager to adopt them, and I know my wife will love them just as much as I do."

"Of course you can. I am confident Lt. Commander Mablung can look after things."

"Thank you, My Lord. I have another question, if I may."

"Of course; what is it?"

"I must know what your plans are for me in the foreseeable future. Lady Hilda has asked me, and I believe our chances for adoption would be better if you plan to have me stationed in one place, rather than move back and forth for extended periods of time."

Thranduil crossed his legs and intertwined his fingers against his stomach. "I will be spending most of my time here, to help stabilize the Northern Kingdoms. The Council will do the governing in the Woodland Realm, the Army and Guardians are well-practiced in protecting our Kingdom, under Mablung's command. Dale is the most vulnerable of all the Northern Kingdoms, and will be for many decades, so you will be charged with maintaining its protection."

"I appreciate that, Thranduil."

They stood and clasped forearms. "I wish you the best in this endeavor, and I hope to offer my congratulations before too long."

After Feren left, the Elvenking and Galion got caught up on some paperwork, until his next appointment, which would be after the midday meal.

Tilda returned from the Children's Tent for lunch today. Under normal circumstances, she would stay and eat with her friends, but King Thranduil and the Princess had some Very Important business to attend to.

After their meal of a delicious hot soup and warm, crusty bread with fruit, the Elvenking made sure his little one was bundled up warmly. He took her by the hand, and they walked through the streets of Dale, to the wagon which carried some things he had brought from his Palace.

There were bundles, with the name of each child who spent their days in the Children's Tent with Bronwyn and her helpers. There was even a package for Tilda. Her eyes shone, as she unwrapped a stuffed Elk, with a removable saddle and bridle. When she unwrapped another couple of outfits for Charlotte, she squealed with delight, threw her arms around Thranduil and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

All that was left, was to await their guests and they would be ready.

Soon, word reached the North Gate of Dale, that a wagon from Erebor was approaching. They were opened, and in rode Tilda's friend Bofur, with Tauriel and Oin. Tilda was jumping up and down with excitement, until Thranduil whispered in her ear. The little girl regally walked to the Dwarves and curtsied to their guests, as a proper Princess of the Realm should do, to the delight of everyone.

Bard came out to meet them all, smiling. "Are we ready, folks? Oh, wait! Let me get Hilda and Percy. They would enjoy this." The couple in question was sent for. Impulsively, Thranduil sent for Feren, to join the fun.

When they were assembled, all the toys were loaded onto the same wagon, and it slowly made its way to the Children's Tent.

After a short speech by Bard, then Thranduil, each package was distributed to the proper child, and soon the air was filled with squeals, squeaks, and delighted gasps. A peaceful warmth spread through Thranduil's body, and settled in his chest as he observed the scene. The joy of this moment was contagious; Tauriel's eyes sparkled, and laughter bubbled through the hand over her mouth. Bronwyn's nose was buried in her handkerchief, as was most of the older folk, and some of the Elven visitors were wiping their eyes.

Even Bofur and Oin were clearing their throats a great deal.

Thranduil went to them and offered a respectful Elven salute. "Dwarven-made toys are unmatched in their ingenuity and quality, and the children have been truly blessed by your generosity. Thank you for your help with Princess Tilda's Mission."

"Aye," Bofur grinned, "she came to me and told me all about your Commission. She was serious about it, too. The folks at Erebor were anxious to help; Bifur especially. Most of the them toys were made by him. He'll be pleased to know."

"I am sorry he was unable to come along, but please, extend our thanks to him, and to everyone who helped. I understand Dwarves think of children as highly as Elves do."

Óin's beard shook, as he nodded his agreement. "Aye; laughter's the best medicine, ye ken, 'specially fer these poor Bains." Oin indicated the tent itself. "'Twas a grand idea, this."

"I am glad you agree, but I must give credit to Lady Hilda and to Galion, my Aide, who had all this set up within hours."

"Aye, I do." The Dwarven Healer jerked his head to their right. "I see yer Commander's enjoyin' hisself."

Across the tops of small heads, a smiling Feren sat cross-legged with Dafina in his lap, while Alis sat in front of him, as they were opening and holding up their new presents. Feren was helping Dafina work the wings on her toy blue bird. Bard sat nearby, surrounded by little ones, as they scrambled to show him their gifts..

Thranduil returned to Tauriel's side as she was laughing at some of the young boys, racing around with their toy mechanical ravens. " _Iellig, gellon ned i gelir i chent gîn ned i lelig,"_ he said, and kissed her hair.

She wrapped her arms around his waist. _"Hannon le, Ada,"_ and she leaned her head against his shoulder.

That was Thranduil's gift, on this magical afternoon.

.

 **ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:**

 _Hannon le, Ada_ – Thanks, Dad

 _Hervenn nîn_ – My husband

 _Iellig, gellon ned i gelir i chent gîn ned i lelig -_ I love to see your eyes shine when you laugh, my daughter.

 _Mellon_ _nîn_ – My Friend

 _Naurmôr_ – "Black Fire" Thranduil's black stallion.

.

 **NOTES:**

The story of the Anor, the Sun, can be read in _The Silmarillion: Of the Sun and Moon and the Hiding of Valinor,_

Or here, on Tolkien Gateway: /wiki/Sun

.

If you like, check out my Two Thrones Board on Pinterest! I've reorganized it a bit and added cast members to update the story. Hope you enjoy!

wendyw0051/two-thrones-series-on-ao3/


	26. Chapter 26

14

 **Chapter Twenty-Six**

SUMMARY: A ghost from the recent past haunts Bard, and it causes trouble between he and Thranduil - no marriage is perfect, isn't it?

.

Later, Thranduil gets a surprise visitor...

 **.**

 **Ruins of Dale; 24th of December, 2941 T.A.**

 _The large bell hit Bard's head, yet again… Finally, he took his sword and cut the damned rope. He nocked his bow, aimed for Smaug and arrow after arrow flew, trying to fell the beast before he killed them all. At the very least, he was hoping to stall the Dragon, buying his people time to get out of the city…_

 _He reached down, and quickly saw that this was his last arrow; his last chance… Saying a quick prayer to the Valar, again, he took aim. And again, the projectile bounced off the scales._

" _Da!"_

 _Bard turned behind him, and there was Bain! No! He was supposed to leave!_

… _He braced himself as he pulled on the bowstring… "Bain, look at me! You look at me…" He saw the missing scale and let the Black Arrow fly…_

 _It missed! Enraged, Smaug roared, "You think you can kill me, Bowman? You dare to use your son to defeat me? He will die!"_

 _The Dragon swooped his head down and grabbed Bain…_

" _Da! No!" Bain screamed. "Help me! Help me!"_

" _NO! NO! BAIN! STOP! PLEASE! Don't hurt my son!"_

 _Smaug's mocking laugh sent chills through Bard. The Dragon's jaws clenched. Bain's eyes bugged out, his mouth opened wide in a silent scream, and as blood dripped from the Dragon's maw, the boy's eyes lost their focus and he grew limp._

 _Smaug chewed on the body of his son like it was a snack. Bard fell to his knees, covered his face and screamed in agony as the crunch of his precious boy's bones tore at his heart._

" _I'm sorry, oh Gods, Bain; I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…"_

 _Something grabbed him, and pulled him upright. Smaug had him in his claws, and his teeth, still dripping with the blood of his son, grew near and the foul stench of his breath made him retch._

" _No! No!"_

 _He struggled until one arm broke free, and swung at Smaug's head with all his might, His punch landed hard on the creature's jaw, and the Dragon jerked his head back._

" _BARD! STOP! BARD!" Smaug shouted and grabbed at his wrists._

" _GET AWAY FROM ME!" He wrestled himself free, and backed up. His feet slipped over the edge of the tower, and he fell down, down, toward the icy water, screaming his son's name._

" _BARD! You must stop this! Wake up!"_

 _The water was so icy, it felt like he hit his head on a solid surface. His wrists were caught again, and he screamed and struggled to get away..._

 _He was pinned down, and couldn't move… And his son was dead…_

"Bard! Please! It is all right…you are safe, _Meleth nîn._ You are safe; it is all right."

Bard opened his eyes. Long, white-blonde hair, hung around his face, and frightened, grey eyes searched his own.

"Bard? Please, Bard, wake up! You are having a nightmare. It is not real. Please!" The Elf was straddling him, holding his wrists over his head, to keep him from moving. "It was a dream. It was not real, you are safe. You are safe, Bard, and all is well." Thranduil's voice became less urgent, more soothing. "Look at me, Bard; you are in our bedroom, and and everyone is safe, do you understand me? It is me, Thranduil. I am your husband, and you are safe. We are in our bedroom, and the children are safe."

"Bain's not dead?" he croaked. "He's alive?"

"It was just a dream, Bard," he said in low soothing tones. "He is sleeping in his room, perfectly safe." Thranduil let go if his wrists, and pulled Bard up into a sitting position, still straddling his hips. He held Bard tightly, rubbing his back. "Shh…" He whispered. "Everyone is safe and in their beds. It was just a dream… You are here with me, and I love you."

"It was so real…" he moaned, rested his cheek and let the steady heartbeat of his husband calm him down.

"Let us get you back in bed, _Meleth nîn."_

Thranduil helped him to his feet, settled him against the headboard with a spare blanket over his shoulders. "You were having a nightmare as terrible as the ones I have, at times."

Bard wiped his eyes on the blanket, and leaned his head on the Elf's shoulders. "I dreamed about that fucking Dragon! I saw Smaug kill my son… Right in front of me. It was horrible! I was on the Bell Tower, like I was that night, except I missed. The Dragon grabbed Bain, and I watched him die, and I couldn't save him… Thranduil?" At the sudden change in the Elf's demeanor, Bard turned. "Thranduil?"

A curtain had fallen between them; the Elvenking stiffened, and wouldn't meet his eyes

"I'm sorry, love; I didn't mean to upset you…"

Thranduil turned to him, with a fake, masked smile, not meeting his eyes. "You were very upset, and perhaps you need to get your thoughts onto something else…"

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing, _Meleth nîn."_ He entwined their fingers. "Are you all right now?"

"I will be. What happened?" He nudged Thranduil with his shoulder.

"You were shouting, and I tried to wake you up, but you became agitated, and began to flail your arms and legs, so I tried to hold you down, to keep you from hurting yourself."

"How did I end up on the floor?"

"You broke free from my grip," Thranduil told him, "then you punched me, and fell off the bed. But please do not wor—"

" _I WHAT?!"_ Bard yanked back the covers and got to his feet, and began to pace, back and forth, as he rubbed the back of his neck. "Shit, _shit!_ I don't remember that. I'm so, so sorry…"

"Bard, it was not your fault."

"Of course, it's my fault!" He flopped into one of the stuffed chairs, and buried his face in his hands, wishing the earth could open up and swallow him. "Oh, gods…"

He had actually hit his own husband, and it made him shrivel with self-loathing.

"Bard, _Meleth_ …" Thranduil came over and rested his hand on his back, but he jerked away.

"Please don't touch me," he whispered hoarsely.

"Why not?"

"Because… these fucking dreams have made me dangerous, that's why! What if this had happened back in the tent, and one of the kids tried to wake me up?" His voice broke. "I… I hit you; no wonder you're upset!"

"Bard! I am not upset!"

"You think I don't know you by now? I feel it, Thranduil! You've just…cut yourself off from me, and you and I both know it. And what's worse," he got up from his chair, "you're lying to me about it." He grabbed his heavy robe, and put it on, tying it at the waist. "I can't...be here. I need some air."

"Please do not leave. If you would come and sit down..."

"NO!" Bard closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. "Just… I need to… I don't know what I need, really, but I'm too upset to stay." 

The stone floors were icy on his bare feet, as he tiptoed into Bain's room. The boy was lying on his stomach hugging his pillow with his mouth hanging open. Bard tenderly brushed his hair off of his brow and watched Bain sleep for a while, letting the horrifying images fade away in the presence of his living, breathing son. After adjusting his blankets, he kissed Bain's forehead, then went to check on the girls.

Tilda was facing the wall, with her covers kicked down again. The room was a bit chilly, so he put some more wood on their fire, and tucked her back in. He stepped over to Sigrid's bed, and kissed the part of her head visible under her quilts.

She turned over and squinted up at him. "Da?"

"Go back to sleep, darling." He smiled, and patted her cheek.

He went into his study, and after building up the fire, he sat in a chair, propped his feet up, and stared into the flames.

A soft knock at the door. "Come," he said.

"Da? Are you all right?" It was Sigrid, wrapped up in one of her blankets.

"It's nothing." He smiled at her. "You go on and get some sleep, yeah?"

But she came in the room and sat down on his lap. "Did you have a bad dream again?"

At the look he gave her, she smirked and said, "You always told me we should talk about it, right? It will help them to stop."

"I love you for that, but not this one, I'm afraid."

"About the Dragon, again?"

His eyes blinked open in surprise. "How did you know?"

"Sometimes you'd thrash around, and cry out. I started to get up and help you a few times, but you usually woke yourself up."

"You never said anything."

"And worry you more than you already were? You've been so busy, and then you got together with Thranduil, and I was hoping he might help."

"You're my daughter; I should be looking after you, not the other way around."

She leaned her head against his. "Even Da's need taken care of, sometimes. You should talk to Thranduil about this."

"He knows, darling."

"Then why are you in here?" Sigrid's eyes were concerned. "And why do you look so upset?"

"Oh, I'm just jittery from my dream, and needed a change of scenery to collect myself, that's all."

"Are you sure?"

"Sure, I'm sure." He pushed her off and they stood up. "You should be asleep, so let's get you tucked in."

"I'm not a little girl, Da."

"You want to make me feel better? Pretend you're still my little girl once in a while, so I don't feel so old."

He banked the fire, got his daughter settled, and he returned to their bedroom to find Thranduil, sitting and looking into the flames, with a sad, serious look on his face. Bard went to the table, poured them both some drinks, and, after giving one to his husband, sat down in the other chair.

After a lengthy silence, Thranduil quietly asked. "Where did you go?"

"I needed to look at my son for a while, then I tucked the girls in."

"Is that all? You were gone for quite some time, Bard."

"I sat in my study, and Sigrid came to keep me company." Bard sighed, and emptied his cup.

"Did you tell her what happened?"

"Of course, I didn't! She just told me what she noticed, and," he shot his husband a look, "she wanted to know why I wasn't talking about it with you."

"I am sorry, Bard."

"Why are _you_ sorry? I'm the one who punched my own husband."

"Do you remember doing that in your dream?"

"I punched Smaug on the snout, when he tried to hold me down. Where did I get you?"

"On the jaw. But it is…"

"No! Thranduil, it isn't! A decent man _does not_ hit his spouse; don't you understand?"

"Bard, you did not hit me, _your dream_ did! It is not your fault. And you did not hurt me."

"Then why did you lie to me, Thranduil? How could I _not_ think you were angry?"

The Elf leaned over, his elbows on his knees and swirled his drink. "I was afraid to tell you the truth."

"Which is?"

"I…have the same type of dreams."

"I know you do, love. That was the reason we met on the parapet that night."

"That is not what I meant, _Meleth nîn._ You said your dream was about Smaug."

"So? I don't see why that would make you mad."

"I was never _angry_ at all, Bard!" The Elvenking glared at him. "Why can you not accept that! I am an Elf. I do not bruise easily. More to the point, I am intelligent enough to know that you were not yourself! Please allow me _some_ credit!"

"Well I would, if you'd tell me what the fuck is wrong, Thranduil! And if you lie again and say, 'nothing,' so help me…"

The Elf sighed, "No; you are correct; I was not honest, but it was _I_ who was ashamed. You are my husband, and should be able to tell me anything."

"What's the problem?"

"I am not like you, Bard." Thranduil said, very quietly.

"I know you're not, love." Then a thought occurred to him. "The night you and I got together, you couldn't tell me what happened to your face…"

Thranduil said nothing, but he took a careful breath.

"Galion had to tell your story, because—"

"Please!" the Elf closed his eyes.

"I'm so sorry; I should have realized. It's just that my Da always said talking about nightmares helps."

"Please do not apologize. I should have explained; but I am not strong about these things, like you."

"Oh, love. Come on; let's get you into bed." He set their drinks on the nightstand, took his Elf by the hand and after slipping his robe off his shoulders, he pulled back the covers and got settled, then joined him.

"There. That's better." He lifted his arm and put it around Thranduil, who rested his head on Bard's shoulder. "I want us to work this out. I can't go to sleep every night, afraid I'll beat my husband to a pulp; that's the problem _I_ have. You need to find a way to face up to your memories, which is the problem _you_ have."

"It would seem so." Thranduil sighed.

"One thing at a time: we both have nightmares and there's no preventing that, but I don't want to abuse you again. What do we do?"

"You did not abuse me, Bard."

"Yes, I did. And you must _always tell me_ if it happens. I have to know, and I can't bear it when you lie, because I feel it when you do. So, promise me?"

"I promise."

"Sigrid told me I had bad dreams when we were in our tent, or in the shelter before. She'd hear me cry out, and rolling to and fro, but I woke myself up before she got to me." He looked down at his Elf. "When you suffer from this, what does Galion do?"

"He shakes me awake, but perhaps that would not work for you."

"I don't think so, either. So, how about this: if you find me having a nightmare, try not to touch me. Maybe just talk to me to try and wake me up."

"What if you roll off of the bed?"

"Maybe you could line up some pillows along the edge?"

Thranduil considered this. "That would be a solution."

"I think so too." Bard said, "I only hit you in the jaw, but what if I had punched the bad side of your face? I don't want the children to come near me either, so we're going to explain in general terms what needs to be done. So, let's try that, and if it doesn't work, we'll try something else."

He and his Elf kissed each other again, and snuggled back down. "There. That's the only problem I want to think on tonight. Everything else will wait until tomorrow. Let's get some sleep, yeah?"

His worries of staying awake the rest of the night were unfounded. Within minutes, they were deeply asleep, in a warm, loving embrace.

.

.

 **25th of December, 2941 T.A.**

The morning light seeped through the window, rousing the Elvenking from his sleep, and smiled at the warmth of his Bowman along his back and the protective arm over his side. Thranduil's eyes adjusted to the light, then focused on an unexpected object in front of him.

Brown hair and antlers. His brows furrowed for a second or two, until he woke up completely and grinned. Tilda's sweet little face was buried in her new stuffed Elk.

Thank the stars he was still wearing his night clothes! Normally, he and Bard would be naked, but during the night's upset, he had dressed to ward off the chill, and Bard must have forgotten to lock the door.

Behind him, Bard mumbled and stirred, and after snuggling in deeper, he softly snored into the back of the Elf's neck. Thranduil picked up the hand on his waist, kissed it, and entwined their fingers, as he watched his new daughter. Her cheeks were flushed with sleep, and her lashes were as black as her Da's. Her brown hair had more of a wave than her sister's and small, fine tendrils framed her face. Her eyes weren't like Bard's nor Sigrid's, yet they both had Bard's chin and mouth.

He was genuinely fond of all the children, but he had to admit Tilda tugged at his heartstrings the most. Sigrid and Bain were older, and spent much of their days pursuing their own interests, while this little one's biggest desire was to be cherished and protected, and he was her willing slave.

"Good morning, love." He heard a very sleepy voice behind him.

"Shh!" Thranduil whispered softly.

Bard raised his head, curious.

"We have a visitor." He pointed to the hair and antlers beside him, smiling proudly.

Bard pulled him closer to his chest, and propped his chin on Thranduil's shoulder, whispering, "She seems to like the Elk, doesn't she? I'm surprised Charlotte's not with her."

The Elf carefully pulled the blanket back a bit to see her better. "Look," he whispered. Charlotte was snuggled there too, in between Tilda and her Elk. He turned his head and grinned. "I only married you to be nearer to your children."

"I admire your self-sacrificing nature. That's the only reason I married _you."_ Bard smirked back. "Looks like we're stuck with each other, then. When you spirit my children away, would you be so kind as to allow me to see them, occasionally?"

Thranduil rolled on his back and stroked the Bowman's cheek with his knuckles. "What I would _prefer,_ is to spirit you all away to my Palace, and have you to myself forever." He ran his finger down the lines of Bard's throat.

"I want to take you into my forest next spring, and introduce you to my tree. It saved my life as an Elfling, and _you_ have saved me as an adult. I think it only fitting you meet."

"I think you've got it wrong; we're only here because of you."

"Perhaps as a King, Bard, but you made my heart come alive again. Before I met you, I only existed; an endless death."

Bard bent his head and kissed his lips, softly. "I'll be right back." He had just pulled his robe on, when there was a stirring to Thranduil's left.

The Elf settled against the headboard, while Tilda fully woke and sat up, blinking.

"Good morning, Little Bean."

"Morning Da. Morning, Thrandool."

"I see you have been wandering at night. Did you sleep well, Tilda?" Thranduil asked the little one, as she rubbed her eyes and clutched her toys with the other arm.

She yawned. "I woke up, and I couldn't get back to sleep. So, I came here." She blinked up at him. "Was that all right?"

"Of course, _Tithen pen._ Your father tells me that he has to pull your blankets up frequently, because you like to run a race in your sleep."

Tilda rolled her eyes. "He _always_ says that."

Bard smiled. "I'm sorry if I woke you, Beanie."

"I heard voices in the room with the table. I'm not used to this place, yet. It's so different."

"It sure is, and when the Castle's ready in a few years, we'll move again. _And_ you get to spend the whole winter in Thranduil's Palace, so you'll have lots of fun."

The corners of her mouth turned down. "Do I have to go?"

Thranduil took her hand, "We need you to help us take care of the children, Tilda. You will all have lessons in our Main Dining Hall, and I need you to listen to them, and tell me if they are happy. _I_ cannot do this, Hilda cannot do this, not even your sister or brother."

"Really?"

"It is true, _hênig._ Do you remember how we talked about the children who have no parents?"

"Uh huh."

"During your stay, your Auntie Hil will try to find them new parents. You could be a big help with this, but you must not tell anyone." He booped her nose. "This must be a secret."

"Why do I have to listen?"

"If you see, or hear anything that tells us the children are unhappy with the people Lady Hilda places them with, you must come and tell us right away."

"Okay, but why does it have to be secret?"

"If the children know you are helping us, they might not want to tell you what we need to know."

"Why not?"

"Well, because they might be afraid."

"Of what?"

"Many things. Perhaps they are afraid of disappointing anyone. Maybe they have a preference of one home over another, but do not want to hurt anyone's feelings. And maybe," he put his fingers under her chin, "they are having nightmares, and are feeling badly, like you do sometimes, but do not want to say. We need to know these things, to help them feel safe and loved again. Can you do this for your Da and me?"

The little girl considered this for a few moments, then nodded.

"Where will I stay?" Tilda asked Thranduil, while Bard got up and went into the necessary.

Thranduil used the blanket on their laps to map out the Royal Wing with his fingers, and where their apartment will be. "You will be right in between myself, and Lady Hilda. There are two doors: one leading out to the hall, and another that leads into my chambers. My study is here, right across the hall, and Galion's is there, right beside me. There will be guards, here, here, and here. You will all be busy, and your father will visit."

Tilda still didn't look convinced, so Thranduil changed the subject. "What are your plans for today?"

"Breakfast, then Tauriel will take me to the Children's Area, like every day. It's too cold to walk around outside anymore."

"All the more reason to stay in a nice, warm palace, do you not think?" He picked up her stuffed Elk. "I am glad you like him. Have you named him, yet?"

"What was the name of the Elk you had?" Tilda asked.

"His name was _Bara-Maethor,_ which means "Fiery Warrior."

Tilda considered this. "I don't think I want to name something fighty."

"'Fighty?'"

"You know; about wars and swords and stuff. I don't like to think about it."

"I see the problem. Perhaps you could name him after something you like."

He kissed the top of her head, as his husband came back into the room, and met his gaze. Bard's eyes shone, and he placed a hand on his heart. Thranduil gave him a serene smile, as he covered his own.

"I know!"

"What do you know, _Tithen pen?"_ He turned his head to look at their youngest child. "What is it?"

"What to name my Elk!"

"And that would be…?" He asked, as Bard walked back toward the bed.

"Daisy!"

Thranduil's brows shot up to his hairline, and there was a small snort from his left. "Tilda, I am afraid only male Elks have antlers. Females do not."

" _Everybody_ knows that." She informed him, primly. "But I like daisies. You said to name him after something I like. So…"

"I did say that, yes. But—"

"And I don't like scary warrior names. My Elk doesn't like to fight, or do anything mean. He likes to eat grass, and pick flowers. His favorite flowers are daisies, just like me."

"I see."

"His name is Daisy," she said slowly and firmly, as if explaining to simpleton.

"'Daisy,' it is," Thranduil confirmed. "Now, your father and I need to wash and get dressed, and so do you, _Tithen Pen_. Give your Da a good morning kiss, and we shall see you at breakfast."

As Tilda kissed them both on the cheek, then scampered off, Bard sat down on the bed, smiling at the Elf. He didn't smile for long, because Thranduil grabbed him by the robe and imprisoned his mouth in a crushing, consuming kiss. Bard was helpless to do anything but respond in kind, as he put his hand on the back of the Elvenking's head to give as good as he got.

When they finally parted, Bard looked at him with the side of his mouth upturned. "It seems my little witch has placed a very powerful spell upon you, love. Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Not a thing, _Meleth nîn._ If this is truly an enchantment, I never want to be released from it."

.

Breakfast was a lively affair, with lots of chatter about plans for the day. Thranduil wanted to go over the lists of supplies that the city would need for the next shipment, so he arranged to meet with Bard and his Aides, along with Galion, first thing. Then Bard wanted to double-check the progress on repairs to the city walls; it needed to be finished as soon as possible, to better protect the city during the cold winter months.

Sigrid, of course, had her lessons with the Healers, and Bain had his lessons with his sword. During the afternoons, Galion was to meet with the two older children to begin to tutor them in their formal education. All of Bard's children had learned their letters and could read, thanks to Mattie and Hilda, but there was much more that the young Prince and Princesses would need to know. For now, they would focus on the basics. Reading, writing, and maths.

The more intense instruction would begin in the Woodland Realm. Thranduil wanted to get them started as soon as possible. "It will help them to adjust better in my Palace, if we start their daily routine now."

Thranduil was hesitant concerning another subject: how to approach Bard about his level of education without insulting him, or making him feel inadequate?

Finally, that night, he just asked him outright, while they were having wine in front of the fire.

"I'm a good reader, but there were only so many books to be had in Laketown. My Mam and Da taught me the basics in maths, to weigh fish and get paid. Mattie was a teacher back in Dorwinian, so she worked with me and brought books with her. The children were so young when she died, or they would be a lot better than they are now."

"How much writing have you done, Bard? As a King, your handwriting must not only be legible and accurate, but flowing and attractive. Impressions count, _Meleth nîn._ I wish it weren't so, but it is."

Bard to his credit, answered honestly. "Not much at all; paper and ink were hard to come by, and expensive. The Master didn't want anyone to get ideas above his station."

Thranduil took Bard's hand and said. "I only ask these questions, because we both want you to be prepared. This does not mean I do not think you brilliant. You are someone I greatly admire, and would do so, even if I didn't love you."

Bard's eyes fell to his lap. "I know. It's hard to admit, though."

"Think nothing of it; these are minor details, which will be corrected with speed before the winter is done. I do not doubt you will accomplish this, and I will help you. During the worst of the winter, there will be little to do, and you should use the time to increase your skills. I will have books sent from my library that you will need to read, plus a large amount of paper and ink for you to copy them, to practice your writing and spelling skills."

Bard winced and rubbed his forehead. "It's one thing to treat with Dwarves; especially with you beside me, but how in the world would I ever fit in with more sophisticated countries? They will think me crude and backward."

"Bard," Thranduil put his hand on his husband's knee. _"You_ are the finest Man I have ever met, and considering my age, that is saying something! I have known many Kings, of all races, on Middle Earth, and you outshine them all. Book learning does not make up for governance, character, and strength. You excel at all of those. Do not forget that!"

A slow smile spread across Bard's face. "Well, I _did_ manage to catch the eye of a certain snooty-faced Elvenking."

"Yes you did. So, listen to your snooty-faced Elvenking, when I tell you there is something special about you." Thranduil kissed him softly.

"And what is so special?" Bard brushed his knuckles over his cheek.

"Your excellent lovemaking skills," The Elf pulled him up to stand. "If I had my way, you would never leave my bed."

"So… Your plan is to have me between your sheets, reading, and writing, and counting on my fingers?" Well, if that's your idea of schooling, I'm all for it."

"Yes," Thranduil started licking and kissing each finger of Bard's hand, "along with some other things..."

"Well," Bard laughed softly, "if that's your idea of schooling, I'll be a very happy pupil."

.

.

 **ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:**

 _Bara-Maethor_ – Fiery Warrior, the name of the Elk that was killed in the Battle of the Five Armies.

 _Meleth nîn_ – My Love

 **.**

 **.**

 **NOTES:**

PTSD is very real, and it can cripple lives, but there is hope! It isn't just the victims that suffer, it's their families as well!

-For more information on PTSD nightmares, please check out this link. There are many others, a well as groups in VA hospitals everywhere:  treating-flashbacks-nightmares-intrusive-memories/


	27. Chapter 27

15

 **Chapter Twenty-Seven**

 **Ruins of Dale; 27th of December, 2941 T.A.**

The days leading up to the departure of the women and children passed much too quickly for the new family. Days were spent in meetings, and endless preparation: Storing up the supplies, checking the structures that they would be living and working in. Was the City Wall finished? Were there other places in the city that were vulnerable to attack? Was the new Main Gate completely secure? What about the side gates? Are the barns snug and warm for the animals? Do they have enough food to last them? What about the armory? Medicines?

Elven troops scoured the woods, to make absolutely sure the road was cleared of predators, wagons arrived from the Realm, with covers to shelter their passengers from the elements. Extra soldiers arrived as an escort.

"Thrandool?" Tilda crawled into his lap, blasted her blue eyes up at him, and asked in her sweetest voice. "Could I ride up front with you? Please?"

"I am sorry, _hênig_ , I will need all my attention to watch and listen to the forest."

"Listen?"

"Yes, the birds and the trees will tell me if there is trouble and I must be able to hear them, to keep you all safe."

"But I could be help you," She batted her eyelashes.

"I know you would, but you must stay in the wagon, where you will be safe."

She wheedled, batted her eyelashes and offered her _very best promise_ to be quiet, but Thranduil wouldn't budge on this matter. Tilda threw a small tantrum, stomped her foot, and had to be sent to her room.

Then Bard had to spend twenty minutes consoling his husband, who was in despair over breaking his _Tithen Pen's_ heart.

"Did you see her face?" he groaned, burning his face in his hands. "She is in torment, Bard!"

"Taken down so easily, by one little girl." His mouth twitched, as he rubbed the Elf's back. "One pout, and you're nothing but a bowl of mush!"

"I have hurt her; can you not see that? Maybe I should—"

"She's not in torment; she just wants you to think it, and if you don't get hold of yourself, she'll end up running the entire bloody Palace by the time spring rolls around!" He laughed and put his arm around his husband's shoulder. "Never go back on your word with children. Set limits, and be firm."

"But she—"

Bard put his fingers on Thranduil's lips. "Trust me. She's as good with those blue eyes as you are with your swords. You'll survive this, I promise." Then he gathered the Elf into his arms. "Some fierce Warrior-King you are." He giggled into his hair.

Thranduil gave him a small smile, but wasn't very cheered up. "I will try not to spoil her too badly over the winter."

"Oh, I know you won't."

"Really?" Thranduil raised his brows.

"Oh, aye. If Hilda she catches you turning the children into self-indulgent brats, she'll thrash your hide until you can't sit on your throne." Bard grinned.

Thranduil snickered. "She is a wonderful woman, Bard, but she frightens me to death."

"Just be glad she's on our side, yeah?"

Hilda's job was to make sure everyone was well enough to handle the trip, as the sheer size of the caravan would addable to travel in wagons for five to seven hours. They'd be moving slower than a normal party, so some might not be well enough to make the trip just yet.

It was a blessing from the Valar that no one had been inflicted with fevers or colds yet. Hopefully, once they were ensconced in the Palace it would prevent illness. So far, only two men were still too wounded to make the trip, but hopefully, the could come when a supply caravan would return later. If not, then Ermon, the Chief Healer and an assistant would remain in Dale to see to the men. Bard had a room off the Great Hall set up for the Healer, so they would remain there.

Five pregnant women were making the trip. Three of them weren't that far along, one woman named Seren, was seven months along, and would travel with her two boys, leaving her husband Llewelyn here to assist Old Ben. All four were healthy but they would be watched closely.

Everyone was worried about a pretty young widow named Rhian, a distant relative of Old Ben, who had lost her husband in the Laketown fires, and her father in the Battle. She was eight-and-a-half months along, and suffered from shock and depression, recoiled from every touch. The Elves had to administer a spell to allow her to be examined. They tried keeping her in the Healing Tent for observation, but the noise and activity upset her too much, so Hilda arranged for two kindly older women, Enid and Gladys to look after her in their Tent, while still under close observation.

As frantic as their days were, the new family enjoyed relaxing together in the evenings. To Thranduil's great delight, Galion had brought a _Dagornaw_ game board and all the pieces. He had seen this game before, in the pubs, but the Laketown people called it Stratagem.* Thranduil and Galion showed Bard how to play, then the Chief Aide sat with Bard, and talked him through the first several games. Even Bain and Sigrid took turns playing, with Galion and Thranduil's help. It was great fun.

Eventually, Bard could play without much help, but still Thranduil wasn't a bit humble about it.

Bard was getting a bit frustrated, as Thranduil was enjoying these victories a bit too much, knocking the piece carved like a King on his side with relish, and saying, " _Oblet-haran! Tûramin!"_ grinning from ear to ear. Bard, with as much dignity as he could muster, replied with a loud raspberry, which made even Tauriel giggle.

This evening, after yet another loss, Bard's humiliation was complete.

They'd been sitting at the table, with the game board between them, and Bard was deep in concentration. Sigrid was seated on a stuffed chair, knitting a sock, while Bain and Tauriel were reading. Tilda had been playing on the rug in front of the fire, dressing Charlotte in her Elven Guard outfit so she could ride Daisy around.

" _DA! Thrandool!"_ She squealed loudly.

"What's the matter, Beanie ?" Bard glanced at their youngest and saw blood coming out of her mouth.

" _AI!"_ Thranduil leapt out of his chair, as he grabbed his handkerchief and held it to her mouth. Sigrid dropped her knitting, and was instantly by her side, holding her head for the Elf, as he examined her, muttering in Sindarin at a rapid pace, as Tauriel hovered nearby.

"Look!" Tilda proudly held out her hand with a bloody front baby tooth.

"Good for you, Til!" Sigrid told her baby sister. "Now remember to put it under your pillow, so Mahal will give you another gold coin for it."

"Honestly, Bard, I cannot accept this! Must they always lose their baby teeth like this? This cannot be normal! Something must be done!"

Thranduil turned to his husband in outrage, but Bard was standing very still; his face took on a weird shade.

" _Meleth nîn,_ are you all right?"

"I think Da looks a little green…" Bain said.

Sigrid giggled covering her mouth, and looked at Tauriel, who was confused.

"Are you well, Bard?" the redhead asked him.

Tilda asked, "Are you gonna throw up?"

Bard clapped his hand over his mouth and dashed from the room.

Bain sighed and rolled his eyes. "Here we go again."

" _Hervenn nîn,_ I do not understand how you can be sick like this! What are you going to when you need to fight? All Kings must deal with blood…"

Bard groaned over the basin. "Stop saying that word!"

"I am sorry. Can I get you something?"

"Bring me some wine to wash out my mouth. And hand me my datun.** And go make sure Tilda's all cleaned up; I don't want to do this again."

Thranduil got Bard his wine, and his chewing stick, to clean his teeth. "Sigrid is taking care of it. She seems used to this sort of thing."

"She would be." He groaned again, and grabbed his middle, as it cramped. Oh, bloody f-"

"Bard! You will mind your language!" Thranduil hissed at his husband.

"Sorry. You're right." Bard rubbed his stomach and moaned. "My wife always took care of things like this. When she left us, at least Sigrid was old enough to handle things, or go get Hilda. Mattie loved to tease me about it, but at least she was kind enough to hide her courses from me. I nearly fainted when Sigrid started hers…"

"Courses?"

"You know…' Courses.'" Bard said.

"No, Bard, I do not know."

"Are you serious? You're kidding, right?" Bard looked at Thranduil intensely for a few moments. "Ulmo's balls… You really don't know, do you?"

"What am I supposed to know?"

"Oh, shit." Bard looked alarmed. "Look, go get Tauriel and Sigrid, and bring them in our room. If you're going to be looking after my teenaged daughter, there are a few things you really need to know…"

Bard went into their room, and pulled the fireplace chairs over to face one side of the bed.

His husband, and their oldest daughters quickly made their appearance. "Here, Thranduil, sit down, and you girls can sit on the bed please." He took one of the chairs, and waited until everyone is seated.

"What's wrong, Da?" asked Sigrid.

"I'm afraid there is something we need to make Thranduil aware of before you leave. It seems he knows nothing about women's courses."

Sigrid's face reddened. "Da-a!" She whispered loudly. "That's really private."

"Tauriel, maybe you can help with this…"Bard gestured his hand in a circular motion, "this... subject."

"I am afraid I cannot help you, Bard. What are 'courses?"

Bard gave her a meaningful stare. "You know…" he said out of the corner of his mouth. "That thing that women get once a month?"

Sigrid covered her scarlet face with her hands. "Oh, no…"

Tauriel looked between Bard and Sigrid, puzzled. "I am afraid I do not know, Bard. Is there something wrong?"

"You mean you don't…" Sigrid was looking at Tauriel, confused, then outraged. "Oh, that's so not fair!" she wailed.

Bard's eyes got wide as saucers. "Oh, bloody fuck…"

"DA! Language! How in the world do you expect Bain to not curse when he hears it from you twenty times a day!" Sigrid reprimanded.

"Don't talk to me like that!" Bard looked at this oldest daughter severely. "I'm still your father, you know."

"If you use language like that around the younger ones, I bloody will talk to you like that!"

"Don't say 'bloody!'"

"Well, you did!"

"Well, yes, I did but…" he wagged his finger at her. "Don't you say it!"

Sigrid rolled her eyes. "Da, that doesn't make any sense, and it's not fair…"

"Look I'm your father, and I will tell you what you are allowed to say and not say!"

"Fine!" Sigrid jutted out her chin. "But if I can't, YOU can't!"

Bard pointed his finger again. "Well, you… You… You are just like your mother!"

His daughter crossed her arms. "Thank you," she said smugly.

"That's not what I bloody well meant, and you know it!"

"Da-a! You said it again!"

"All right, that's ENOUGH! Both of you!" Thranduil's patience had run out. "You," he pointed at Bard, "stop using foul language."

"But…" Bard started to protest.

"Ah, ah -" He put his fingers on Bard's lips, shutting him up.

"And you, hênig, stop arguing with your father."

"But he -" She closed her mouth when he gave her a warning look.

Thranduil looked at Tauriel, desperately. She was no help. She had her hand on her mouth, her eyes scrunched tight, trying not to laugh.

The Elvenking rolled his eyes at his Elven daughter. "Now. Tauriel, since you have no idea what these two are talking about, would you please get Lady Hilda and bring her at once? Please also ask Lord Percy to come and sit with the younger ones, because it looks like we may be here a while. And you two," he instructed father and daughter, "Kindly refrain from speaking until you both have calmed down. Is that clear?" He was in full King mode and was brooking no argument.

The two had the grace to look sheepish.

Presently, Hilda arrived, demanding, "What the Stars is going on here? Tauriel shows up at our door, practically busting a gut, she's laughing so hard, and then she says you two were arguing? Why do I have to settle an argument?"

Thranduil stood, nodding his head, "Greetings, Lady Hilda, and fear not. You will not be expected to try to settle as foolish an argument as the one they were having." He put his hands on his hips and gave Bard and Sigrid a stern look. "Will she?"

"No." Sigrid said, looking down.

"Bard?"

Bard made a face, "No. Sorry, Hil. Actually, we do need you, because a... sensitive subject has come up. Thranduil, and apparently Tauriel, need to be educated on matters of human women of childbearing age. Sigrid is feeling a bit shy about it, and if you would be so kind as to…" he waved his hands in the air.

"What in blazes are you...? Ohhhhh…." Hilda's widened. "You mean Elves don't…" She glared at Tauriel. "You've got to be kidding!"

"I know, right?" Sigrid gave her sister a look.

"Apparently not. And, since Thranduil has a breakdown when Tilda loses her teeth, I figured he'd faint outright if he suddenly came across-"

"I would not faint." Thranduil said with dignity. "I never faint."

Bard raised his eyebrows at him, "Really? What about when -"

"Ahem!" Thranduil cleared his throat. "Lady Hilda, if you could please explain…"

"Fine." Hilda rolled her eyes and sighed. "If it falls to me, then let's be done with it." She walked over and took Thranduil's chair, and sat down. "You can get one from the other room, and be quick about it."

"You can have mine, Thranduil, I'll just be outsi-" Bard jumped up quickly and tried to exit the room.

"Sit right back down, young man! You're not leaving this room!" She told Bard severely. Then she looked at Thranduil. "If I sent that one to get a chair," she pointing to Bard, "he'd run for the hills. If you'd please go get yourself one, I'd appreciate it."

Thranduil bowed and kissed her hand. "You are a savvy and resourceful woman, My Lady." He grinned at her, and went.

Sigrid got up to follow the Elvenking.

"And where do you think you're going, Missy?"

"But Auntie Hil…" Sigrid whined.

"You're going to be a Healer, aren't you? This is the stuff you're going to be dealing with, so you'd better get used to it. Now, get back here, and sit your bloody arse down!" She ordered the young girl.

That did it. Poor Tauriel couldn't hold it in anymore. She sputtered, then burst out laughing, and flopped sideways on the bed, holding her stomach.

Thranduil looked at the group of people at the bed, and shook his head. He sighed, raised his eyes to the heavens and said a quick prayer for strength, and went to get the fucking chair.

So, Hilda explained the 'facts of life' and after, she and Sigrid took a mumbling Tauriel, (who was no longer laughing), out of the room. "Percy can get the kids ready for bed, and we'll talk this one down from her ledge." She shook her head in sympathy. "You've got your hands full, Bard." And shut the door behind her.

"Are you all right, love?"

Thranduil sat in his chair, staring straight ahead, and feeling a bit sick.

"Thranduil?"

"I do not think I can ever look at human female in the same light again." He said, in a thin, faraway voice. "I do not wish to know this, yet it cannot be unknown, now." His eyes still were wide, looking off into space.

"I don't disagree." Bard stood up, pulling Thranduil up to stand, and kissed him. "Come on, let's tuck the children in, and call it a night." Taking him by the hand, he led his dazed husband from the room.

Once the kids were kissed, the fires banked and the lamps turned down, Thranduil lay on the bed, his hands behind his head, as he stared up at the ceiling. "I love your daughters, you know that, do you not?"

Bard, turning on his side toward him, kissing his shoulder. "I do know that. And they are our daughters, now; just as Bain is our son."

Thranduil smiled at him. "And Tauriel and Legolas are our children, as well."

Bard smiled at him. "Are you feeling any better? Are you still glad you have human daughters?"

The smile left Thranduil's face. "Yes, I am, but I had no idea they were so... different than Elven children, Bard. I mean, I knew, but... I still cannot understand how Tilda loses teeth! That does not seem right to me, no matter what you say."

"Thranduil..." Bard rolled his eyes.

"And now, there is this... with Sigrid. I understand what Hilda has told me about the females, but I just… I cannot believe it! No wonder Sigrid and Hilda looked angry and jealous of Tauriel! It seems a cruel joke to curse your females with such a thing!"

"Believe me, most women agree with you. Mattie would say that all the time. But this can't be a brand-new concept to you. Think about it, love: you breed horses, and other animals. Their females go into seasons, right?"

Thranduil looked at Bard and said sharply, "Our daughter is NOT a horse! How could you think to compare her with one!" He huffed piously and stared back up at the ceiling.

"I know she's not, but it's along the same principle. It isn't like you've never had experience with these things. You have a breeding plan for your horses and your Elk don't you? And your hunting dogs?"

"Well, yes..."

"And you have to keep track of when they're in season to mate them?"

Thranduil considered this. "Yes, we do. But humans, especially Sigrid-"

"Sigrid's body works on that same principle, but you're right. It's different, in that she can choose who to -"

"Bard!" Thranduil shuddered. It was all a bit too much for him. "I cannot bear the thought of our children doing that…"

"Good point. I'm not ready to think about it, either."

They lay there quietly in the dark for several moments, trying to think about something else. After a while, Bard traced his fingers along the Elvenking's chest, in slow circles, then down.

He kissed Thranduil's chest, "Come on, love. Let's take your mind off of things, shall we?"

"You are serious? Bard!" Thranduil looked at him incredulously. "I cannot get these…these… images out of my mind, and you expect me to want to have sex? And to even think of our Sigrid having sex..."

"Stop saying that!" Bard turned pale, and smacked his arm.

"But she will, someday!" Thranduil waved his arms around. "How can I forget that? She will be -"

"Well, not now, she won't! Shit, Thranduil! Thanks a -" he smacked Thranduil's arm again, "lot, for putting that image in my head…"

"Baw! No dhínen!" Thranduil hissed. "Will you please watch your mouth!"

Bard sighed, and got up to pour them each a glass of wine. The strong stuff.

"Here." He crawled back in bed, and they sat up and drank.

"Being the father of human daughters is much more difficult than sons." Thranduil observed.

"You have no idea." Bard said, emptying his glass.

"I do now, do I not?"

The Bowman entwined their fingers, and laid his head against his husband's shoulder. "You're right. You're stuck with us, warts and all."

"I just had no idea of all that comes with it." Thranduil marveled. "I had caregivers who took care of much of the distasteful tasks of parenting, but even so, there is so much to human children that I simply do not understand."

"Try not to think about it, love." Bard soothed.

They sat there, trying to relax, and sipped their wine.

Then a terrible thought struck the Elvenking. He froze, horrified, and sat up straighter. "Bard? We keep track of when our mares are in season - does this mean I have to keep track of Sigrid's cycles, now? Or Tilda's when she starts?" He put his hand on his forehead, and started to panic. "I do not think I can... Please do not make me do this!"

Bard tried to hide his smile. "No, love; I promise you, you don't have to do that. Sigrid keeps track on a paper that Hilda gives her, and for the most part, I have very little to do with it. It's her job to take care of it, and unless she gets cramps, I don't even know it's happening. While they are in your Palace, Sigrid will seek out Hilda, or a Healer."

The Elvenking let out a long, relieved breath. "More wine please. In fact, please get the pitcher and bring it here."

Bard kissed him on the cheek. "Sure thing. Poor Ada seems to be having a rough night."

"Yes, Ada certainly is, now fill this up and quickly." When Bard gave him another cup full, he drank the whole thing in one long pull. Then held the goblet out to Bard for another. Looking skeptical, Bard refilled it, and he drank it again. This time, instead of holding out his cup, he just held out his hand for the pitcher. "Here. Give it to me."

After filling his cup again, he set it on his bedside table. "I have not been this nervous since Mírelen gave birth."

"You mean, when the King, who never faints, fainted?"

"I distinctly remember forgetting that."

"Yeah, I bet you do." Bard gave him a sarcastic smile.

Thranduil drank another cup.

"Easy there, love! It's not that serious, really." Bard warned.

"It is to me! Have you any idea how upset I would have been, had I been 'surprised' with this?"

Bard sympathized. "Thranduil, I doubt you would even be aware of it. But you still need to understand what happens. You have humans in your life, now…"

"Well, I do not like understanding this part! And what are these…these… cramps you speak of? I certainly need to know about that, do I not?" He was waving his arms around again, spilling his wine, until Bard pried his fingers from the cup, and took it away from him.

"Sometimes during Sigrid's cycle, her belly pains her. If it gets really bad, she goes to bed with hot cloths on her belly, and drinks willow bark tea…"

"SHE HAS TO BE CONFINED TO HER BED?" Thranduil roared, and shot out of bed. "You mean she cannot get out of bed? And you do not think I should worry?" In a complete state of panic, Thranduil began to babble in rapid stream of Sindarin, as he ran his hand over his face, and paced back and forth in front of the fireplace. "I-I. Bard, I do not think -"

Bard got up, turned up the lamp, and rushed over to him, "Thranduil, please. Please calm down. You're going to wake the children. Now, come back to bed. You're just overwhelmed that's all…"

"Thranduil?" He heard Sigrid's voice outside the door. "Is everything all right? Da?"

Bard gave his husband a look, then grabbed Thranduil's robe and threw it at him, and put his own on. "Just a minute, darling. I'll be right there."

"Bard!" The Elf hissed. "No! Do not open that -"

Too late.

"Come in, love, we were just talking about you."

Thranduil looked wide-eyed in terror. "No! We were... Sigrid, it was nothing…"

Ignoring his mess of an Elvenking, Bard went and sat on the bed, and indicated for her to sit at the foot of the mattress. "I'm sorry to say, your Ada was shouting, but he didn't mean it, Darling. He's just worried whether he can take good care of you, and he needs a little reassurance. Hilda's speech was a bit too much, and he's just not used to being around human girls. It rattled him."

Thranduil gave his Bowman a murderous, embarrassed look, then came to sit beside Bard. "Yes, hênig, I'm afraid I was. When you come and stay with me, I want to take excellent care of you, and all this is very new to me."

Sigrid giggled. "I know. You nearly had kittens when Tilda lost her tooth. I think it's sweet."

"I was hoping you could reassure him, that you are not on death's door every month, so we can get some sleep tonight." Bard smiled at the poor Elf. "I've been telling him he won't even have to know you are on your courses, that this is a matter between you and Hilda, or a Healer if needed, correct?"

"That's right, Thranduil. It happens to every girl. It's perfectly natural. There's only a problem if I don't have one. It could mean something is wrong, or I'm pregnant –"

Thranduil gasped in horror, and Bard's face suddenly turned purple.

"- which I DefinitelyAmNotAndWillNotBeForAVeryVeryVeryLongTime," Sigrid rushed, then tilted her head with a smirk, and smacked Bard's knee. "Now would be a good time to take a breath?"

Both Kings exhaled.

She leaned toward Thranduil, and said slowly, "You don't have to do a thing, I promise."

"But Bard said you have to be confined to your bed! How can I not worry about you? Elves do not have sicknesses, and I am not used to things like this."

Bard watched, his eldest daughter, impressed, as she scooted up from the bottom of the bed, and moved closer to the Elvenking, to take his hand.

"I don't know what to tell you about that. I don't get cramps very often, but if I do, it is all right. Thranduil, I can't promise that I'll never get sick, or Bain, or Tilda won't. I am what I am: a human girl. It's the way things are. I know you'll do your very best to look after us, and that's all you or anybody can do."

Thranduil squeezed her hand and smiled at her. "Your Da is correct about you. You are very grown up."

Sigrid gave him a reassuring smile. "I tell Da I was born old. And I'm glad you and Da are together. You make him smile. You changed all our lives, we're happy, too. My Mam would like that."

Bard swallowed hard, as he watched his new husband gather their daughter up in his arms and hold her, kissing her hair. "Thank you, Sigrid."

Sigrid sat up again. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Anything."

"What does _Ada_ mean? And _hênig?"_

"Well, _Adar_ means 'father,' and _Ada_ means 'Da' in our language. _Hên_ means 'child,' and _'hênig'_ means 'my child.''

The young girl smiled. "I like your language. _Ada_ sounds nice. Sometimes Thranduil can be a mouthful. It would certainly be easier for Tilda to say. It's cute, though, when she calls you 'Thrandool.'"

The Elf chuckled. "Yes, it is. It is endearing.'

"Would it be all right with you if… I mean Tauriel calls you _Ada_ , but she's your daughter, and I know I'm really not…" She looked down, bashful, studying the quilt on the bed.

Thranduil took her chin in his hand, "Please look at me." She met his gaze. "I would be deeply honored, if wish to think of me as your _Ada."_ He smiled and kissed her forehead, "I already think of you as a daughter of my heart."

"Sigrid, I would never replace your mother in your heart and in your life. Everything I have heard about her has been remarkable, and I honor her for bringing you children into this world. Your Da tells me you are like her. If she was as wonderful and strong as you are, it is easy to understand why she was so cherished."

Bard's eyes stung, but he said nothing, afraid to break the spell.

Sigrid threw herself into her Ada's arms again, and hugged him tight. As she lay her head on his shoulder, her eyes met with Bard's and they exchanged a smile.

"Now, _Iellig_ , I believe you need to be getting to bed. Do you want me to walk you?"

"No thanks. I can go by myself." She still had her head on his shoulder. "What does _Iellig_ mean?"

"'My daughter.'"

Then Bard's heart swelled to the point of bursting. Sigrid got up, and kissed them both good night, and he walked her to the door, "I love you, my girl." He hugged her tightly.

"I love you, too, Da." She before she went through the door, she called out, "Good night, Ada."

"Good night, Sigrid. Sleep well."

Bard closed the door behind her, and locked it. Then he strode toward the Elf, smiling, ripping off his robe, then straddling the Elvenking, and laid a hard, plundering kiss on his mouth, pulling the robe down off his shoulders and untying the middle. "Get this thing off, because I am going to have you. Now."

They both got naked and in the middle of their bed in seconds. Kissing and fondling each other hungrily, they were completely aroused in no time. With savage force, Bard flipped Thranduil onto his stomach, and soon the room was filled delighted moans, as Bard took him from behind.

When they finally worked through the wonderful aftershocks, and slowed down, they both flopped down on the bed. Bard lay on top of him for a little while, until he was able to leave the warmth of Thranduil's body and roll over onto his back, and wheeze. Thranduil turned his head to face the Bowman, on his stomach, and smiled at him, panting too.

"We are always finding new ways to please each other, _Hervenn nîn."_

"I don't ever want stop." Bard whispered.

After getting up and washing off, they cuddled back in bed, and lay quietly, waiting for sleep to take them.

"Bard?"

"What, love?"

"I am very, very glad you are not a human woman."

Bard chuckled and drew his husband closer to him, burying his nose into the back of his neck. "Go to sleep, you silly Elf." Then he added. "I'm very glad I'm not a woman, either." He lay there, content and relaxed, then bolted upright, and jumped out of bed. "Shit!"

"What is the matter?"

"I forgot about Tilda's coin from Mahal!" He went to the dresser without lighting the lamp, and stubbed his foot on it. "Oh, bloody fuck!" He hissed between clenched teeth. "I'm still not used to this room! Shouldn't I be able to see in the dark now? Shit!"

"For Valar's sake Bard, give it to me; you will wake the dead with your clatter. Just go back to bed and be very quiet."

He swore under his breath, and got back under the covers.

He listened for the door to the girls' room to open, then close again after a few minutes.

When Thranduil silently entered, he asked, "Did it go okay?"

"I had to pull her covers up, but she did not wake up. It was difficult to find the tooth she left; we need to have her wrap it up in something, next time - I felt ridiculous, feeling around for it. Perhaps I will give her one of my kerchiefs for that purpose."

"You've only got dozens of those things. Have you got the tooth?" Bard asked him.

The Elvenking held it in his palm triumphantly. When Bard reached for it, Thranduil snatched his hand back. "No. This is mine, and I am keeping it."

Bard giggled. "Get in here, Ada." He threw back the covers and invited him in. First, Thranduil put his Tithen Pen's tooth, carefully wrapped, in a box with some other personal things. Then, with a serene smile on his face, pulled off his robe and snuggled with his husband.

"I love you, Bard."

" _Gi melin, Thranduil."_

They lay there for a few moments, enjoying the warmth of each other's arms.

"Bard?"

"Mmmm?" A muffled, sleepy voice answered.

"You really must stop your swearing, you know."

"Fuck off." Bard mumbled, before drifting off.

 **ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:**

Ai! – Eek!

hênig – my child

tithen pen – little one

Dagornaw – means literally "Battle Plan." In Westron, it is called "Stratagem" which is basically Chess.

Tûramin – I win

Oblet-haran – Check Mate (literally means "To imprison the king.")

Baw! No dhínen! - Don't! Be quiet!

Iellig – My daughter

Gin iallon, Bard – I beg of you, Bard

Den ídhron – I want it

Nestago den – Put it in

Puitho nin – Fuck me

Meleth nîn – My love

Hervenn nîn – My husband

 **NOTES:**

*- The earliest known game of chess goes back to the 6th century in India, although Persia, after it was conquered by the Arabs, developed it into the version we know today. Some historians believe that the Chinese had a part in this as well. Either way, the game is ancient, so I see no reason why Middle Earth wouldn't have its own. Besides, it's my fantasy verse, and I can do what I want, so there.

**- A Datun is a stick used to clean teeth, used before the invention of toothbrushes. They could be made from many different aromatic trees, and were used for thousands of years, before toothbrushes were invented, in the 1500's, according to the Internet (and, if it's on the 'Net, you know it's true…). In Ancient England, one of twigs used were from the Apple tree, so that is what I decided Bard and his family use.


	28. Chapter 28

**Chapter Twenty-Eight**

***TRIGGER WARNING***

Mention of Domestic Violence/Rape/Gruesome Execution.

.

 **Ruins of Dale; 28th of December 2941 T.A.**

On the day before the Feast, all the final decisions and arrangements had been made, and the wagons would be packed the following morning. People were scurrying around, packing and cleaning the tents, readying them to be taken down two days from now.

Bard and Thranduil had met with Hilda yesterday to confirm all the final preparations. The biggest challenge was keeping the children happy and quiet for such a long journey.

"I know it would be good for the children's spirits to pass the time singing songs, but it would be safer if they did not, Lady Hilda. I have scoured the area as thoroughly as possible, but I do not wish to encourage trouble. It would be a simple solution to put up silencing spells on the wagons, but it could be dangerous if something goes wrong. We need to be able to hear each other, and the passengers, in order to protect you."

"What if your Elves do it? It might hold their attention, meeting someone they don't know, hearing things they've never heard of, and, if they get bored, maybe your men can rotate in and out of the wagons?"

Thranduil considered this. "It might work. I'll trust you to speak with Bronwyn and find ways to keep the children calm. It will be dangerous if they jump around, and possibly fall out. I must warn you: if it becomes necessary, I will not hesitate to put them under a sleeping spell, if they get cannot settle down. I want to avoid this, but their safety is more important."

"We all know how the little ones are, so if you have to, do it. Now," she looked at the next item. "The Healer's wagons. Will the sick be sleeping as well?"

"Ermon, my Chief Healer will be staying here, to attend to those too ill to travel, but his wife, Elénaril will be coming to the Palace, and I have every confidence in her. Have you met her?"

"Only once, and just to be introduced." Hilda replied. "But your word is good enough."

Bard asked, "How's the pregnant woman? The one that's almost due?"

"You mean Rhian?" Hilda shook her head sadly. "I don't know; she barely eats in such poor spirits, poor dear. The only ones that can go near her, are Old Ben, and that guard of yours. He makes a point to come and visit her when he's off duty."

Bard and Thranduil looked at each other, curious. _"Daeron?"_

"Is that a problem?" Hilda's eyebrows went up.

Bard shrugged. "Is he helping her?"

"I think so. Enid and Gladys say he's careful with her and she seems to be comfortable with him, and right now, she needs it. She trusts him."

"Does Daeron care for her?" Bard was concerned. "It would be a bit soon after losing her husband, don't you think?"

"The ladies say he's a perfect gentleman, and they've been watching." Hilda face grew dark. "But I'll tell you about that husband of hers. Garth only married her because her father had money. And he spent more time in the pubs, drinking away his pay, than he did with her." She looked severe. "I've seen bruises on her, too. She was covered in them, when we first came here.

 _"Nae, nirnaeth!"_ Thranduil's eyes went wide.

"Ben told me her father treated her like a servant, and once Garth got hold of her, she barely left the house." Hilda shook her head, sadly. "She's only nineteen; too young for all of this."

Bard asked. "The Healers know about all this, right?"

"I made sure of it and so did Ben. She didn't want me to tell them, she felt that ashamed."

"Isn't Ben some sort of relative of hers?"

"Aye; her Mam, Valar rest her soul, was a cousin, and come spring, he'll be looking out for her."

"Oh, good."

Thranduil felt murderous. "Since when should a woman feel _ashamed_ for being beaten?"

"It happens," Hilda shrugged. "The men beat them down to the point they're afraid to do anything to defend themselves. Hannah told me it was a miracle the baby was still healthy, but let me tell you; _no one_ mourns that bastard of a husband of hers."

"It is well that he is watching over her." The Elvenking sighed. "Daeron is a trained healer, and his gifts could be of particular use to her and the child."

"Then I say bless him; Ulmo knows she needs all the help she can get."

.

 **29th of December, 2941 T.A.**

The day of the Feast, dawned grey and overcast. Despite all there was to do, Thranduil delegated duties and cleared his afternoon schedule, while he waited in the study.

"You wish to see me?"

"Yes, Tauriel, please come in. Did you have your midday meal yet?"

When she shook her head, he sent for Galion to see about some food for them, then invited her to sit with him before the fire. He poured her some juice and they sat.

"How are you?" He asked his foster-daughter.

"I am fine." She didn't look fine.

"Please," He took her hand. "I can imagine how hard this must be. I know you will miss the children terribly, and I am concerned about you."

"I shall miss you, as well. And Lady Hilda." Tauriel tried to make light of things.

Thranduil was not fooled. "Will you be all right?"

Tauriel looked into the fire. "I shall try my best to be."

"I know you will, _Gwinïg_." He tilted his head, slightly, as he studied her. "Do you miss Kili?"

"Yes. I do not understand it, Ada! How can I miss someone I only knew for a few weeks? He was hardly in my life at all, and now he's gone!"

"We do not choose these things, _Iellig_ , love chooses us. I am proud of you, because of it."

She looked at Thranduil in surprise. "I do not understand."

"I was scathing in my speech to you about him and your feelings for him, and it was wrong of me. I said some terrible things to you; unforgivable things, and my apology is terribly inadequate, but it is all I have. What makes me proud of you, Tauriel, is when you were on Ravenhill, you had the courage to say goodbye to him. You had the strength to let him go, yet carry him in your heart. You did something I could not until recently, and I admire you for it."

She looked at him, her eyes shining with tears. "I am sad he died, but I do not want to go through my whole life feeling empty. Sometimes I feel angry, Ada. I never had a chance to be with him, or anyone! I will never marry, or have children. I have always wanted those things, and sometimes I feel like my heart betrayed me and it seems...cruel."

He looked at her with pity. Tauriel was never one to whine or shake her fist at the sky. She put her head down and got on with things, saying little, much like Bard did, and it was another quality he admired, in both of them. She was right; her situation was terribly unfair, and he had no words to comfort her. He pulled his chair closer, and squeezed her hand.

"Bard has arranged for you to visit Erebor several times over the winter, provided you leave him properly guarded. I hope that will help your distress, hênig."

Thranduil lifted her chin with his fingers, and continued. "You have been made a Friend to the Dwarves and that is no small honor. This is another reason I am very proud of you. You have accomplished something few Elves have ever done, and this is another way your actions have helped the Northern Kingdoms. You will help relations between all Elves and Dwarves."

"I never thought about it."

"Nor do I wish you to, for I want you to be kept outside of any politics. I plan to speak to King Dáin about this when next I see him. Bard and I will not allow you to be a pawn, and I believe the King Under the Mountain will agree to protect you in this. Friendship is all you need to worry about; just enjoy it."

Tauriel looked relieved, and smiled.

Thranduil changed the subject. _"Gwinïg_ , I am sad for your pain, and I pray the Valar will help you find a way through your grief, and perhaps find purpose, beyond looking after the heirs of Dale."

She looked defeated. "Elves only love once, so I have always been told."

"That is the accepted teaching, but your circumstances are a bit different, and if there is any way to help you, I will do my utmost. I have not received an answer yet, and with your permission, I would like to write to Lord Elrond, and see if he has any insight in this matter.

Tauriel considered this, then looked at him, curious. "May I ask you something?"

"Of course, _Iellig."_

"Were you in love with Legolas's mother? Please do not be angry; I know almost nothing about her."

"I am not angry. I can understand why you think this, but that is not your fault." He looked into the fire, lost in memories. "I loved Legolas's mother with all my heart. I still love her, but she and the Valar made it possible for me to have room in my heart for Bard. I love him very much, and he brings me joy."

Thranduil sighed. "I never had the courage to face Queen Mírelen's death. It has been my biggest regret, _Gwinïg_ , pushing you both away. I loved you both dearly, but I could not get past my own grief to let you feel loved." His voice broke. "I am so very sorry. While I cannot get those years back when you were a little girl, I would like very much to be a real _Adar_ to you now, and forever, if you will let me."

Suddenly Tauriel was in his arms, holding him tight around his waist, while he stroked her hair and murmured comforting words to her in Sindarin.

Using his handkerchief to wipe his daughter's eyes, he asked her, "Will you be all right?"

"Yes, I think I will, _Ada._ Not just this winter, but always."

He kissed her head. "I am glad." And hugged his oldest daughter some more.

The wagons were loaded, ready for the trip out early the following morning and the people of Dale, the Elves, and some Dwarves gathered for a celebration.

They all had taken time to say farewell to and bury their dead; the mourning will go on for a long time. But, tonight, the combined Free Peoples of the North, wanted to acknowledge and celebrate LIFE.

Bard stood on a table, and gave a short speech, thanking his people for how hard they were working to give them all a better future. He toasted, each in turn, the Elves and the Dwarves, and encouraged his people to set aside any differences to make Dale a peaceful and prosperous place. Then, he held a moment of silence for those who are gone from their midst.

The food was wonderful, wine was brought from Thranduil's Kingdom, and Erebor brought plenty of ale, to contribute to the celebration. Music was playing, and they all were dancing, each race showing the others some of their steps. Thranduil and Bard danced with the Tauriel and the children, and with each other, smiling.

Later on, Bard brought out the Stratagem board, happily announcing to his children that there was, in fact someone who could beat Thranduil at the game. He had set it up in a corner, away from the fray, and sat his husband down. Then Feren walked up, and sat opposite him. The Elvenking's eyes narrowed.

"Tauriel told me." Bard said, smugly. "It seems you are not as untouchable as you like to think you are, My King."

The game had a rather unexpected effect on the rest of the party. Before too long, the King and the Commander found themselves surrounded with a large semi-circle of an audience, captivated. Rumor had spread about the game going on in the corner, and surreptitious bets were placed, and whispered commentary was informing the crowd of the action.

Bard stood to the side, arms crossed, as Tauriel came up beside him, to see how the game was progressing.

"What is happening?"

"It's close game. Thanks for telling me Feren can beat him; it's time my husband was taken down a peg or two."

Percy walked over. "I was thinking we should have this game to help with morale over the winter. Other games too."

"I like that idea. I'll get some from the Realm and bring them back with me."

"Good thinking. Maybe you could ask the Elves for more games to teach us. I wonder if they have playing cards or Draughts. We could set up tournaments."

"Do that. I'll bring back what I can. I want to also find a space to set up for weapons training. We'll be stuck inside for days at a time, and the men will need to burn off energy, so see what can be done."

Their attention turned back to the game. Both elves were staring at the board, deep in concentration. Thranduil picked up a piece and took out Feren's queen, causing some of the men to groan, and the whispered commentary continued. Feren took out a rook, and there were more _oohs_ and _aahs_ , and curses.

Thranduil moved, but took nothing. With an enigmatic smile, Feren moved his Wizard and said, _"Oblet-haran!"_ Thranduil smiled, turned his king on its side, and graciously clasped forearms with his Commander, and congratulated him, and there was applause all around.

Bard stepped up to congratulate Feren. "Well played, Feren. I was beginning to think this Elf was unbeatable."

Soon, the party was breaking up, and everyone went back to their temporary homes. There was much to do on the morrow, and they all needed an early start.

When Thranduil and Bard made their way back to their wing, they quietly checked on the children. The Elf pulled up Tilda's covers again, and kissed her on the forehead. He did the same for Sigrid, who sat up sleepily and hugged them both, before hunkering down and going back to sleep.

Bain was spread-eagled, face down, on the bed, so, Bard gently took the book he was reading, closed it and set it on the bedside table. He tucked his leg back under the blankets, and brushing his black bangs off his forehead, kissed his forehead, and quietly shut his door.

Thranduil closed their own bedroom door behind them, thoughtfully. "I have not done things like this since Legolas and Tauriel were small. I had forgotten how much I enjoy seeing children asleep."

Bard, over at the bed, taking off his clothes, said, "Everybody does. They're always well-behaved when they're asleep. Don't worry - you'll get plenty of practice for the next long while." Then he sat down, his elbows on his knees. "Then it will be my turn to miss it."

The Elvenking went over to him and knelt in front of him. "They will be missing you every bit as much, _Meleth nîn._ As will I." He held Bard's cheek in his palm.

"I know; just don't let my children grow up without me, all right?"

"I am a powerful Elf, and a King; I will forbid it."

Bard smiled, then he got a bit serious. "Just make sure Tilda stays covered up. She always kicks her blankets off. Bain likes to read at night. He's like me, and it helps him get to sleep. You'll probably have to go in and put his lamp out for him. Tilda's had a few nightmares, but not for a while. If she does, keep an eye on her the next day, because she's usually very down in the dumps, and needs to be cuddled a lot. Sigrid can't eat strawberries, or she gets a rash, and moldy cheeses give her terrible headaches..."

Thranduil sat beside him on the bed, put his arm around Bard's shoulders, and listened to him prattle on. Bard was the best parent he had ever met, and his throat tightened.

"What's wrong? Am I overwhelming you?"

Thranduil snapped out of his reverie. "Oh, no. You are fine."

Bard leaned against him, and took his hand, entwining their fingers. "I'm sorry. I know you'll take care of them; it's just hard."

Bard, _I want_ to learn about them!"

"Then why are you so sad?"

"I do not think I ever knew what Legolas or Tauriel's favorite foods were. A good father, like you, should know those things."

"Hey, hey. Come here." Bard pulled the Elf to him. "I want you to spend our time apart, trying to forgive yourself." Bard grinned. "I'll practice my penmanship, and you practice letting the past go, is it a deal?"

"I will try, _Meleth nîn._ I have made much progress with Tauriel, but I do not know what to do about Legolas."

Bard looked at him, studying him, thoughtfully. "Don't worry about it now. Even if you _did_ think of a way, no message could get through to Rivendell until the weather clears, am I right?"

Thranduil hadn't considered this. "You are right, of course."

Bard kissed him. "I'm too tired to make love tonight, but I promise, I'll jump your bones first thing, when we get to our chambers in your Palace."

Thranduil chuckled. "I look forward to it."

.

 **30th of December, 2941 T.A.**

Morning came, all too soon.

A hearty, hot breakfast was served out in the Great Hall, while in the Royal Wing, breakfast was a quiet, sober affair, then a tearful goodbye between Tauriel and the children, in Bard's study.

"I will miss you all, but the winter will pass. We will all write each other, promise?" The Elf was doing her best to put on a brave face, even though a tear was dropping off of her chin. "You will love the Palace. Ada tells me you will be staying in my old rooms and they are very nice." Tilda, was taking it the hardest. "The time will go by before you know it." She reached down and picked her up and held her for a long moment.

Then Bain and Sigrid wanted their hugs. "You're my big sister, now and don't you forget it! I'll write to you every chance I get and tell you all about what we're up to, all right?" the girl said to Tauriel, hugging her tight. "I promise, you won't miss a thing." Tauriel kissed her cheek, and said, _"Hannon le, Gwathel. Cuio vae, ar no veren."_

To Bain, she gave a brief hug. "Make sure you keep up your forms with Daeron, and I want you all to study your lessons, and do your best, do you promise?" She smiled at the boy, "I shall miss you, Gwador."

When she went to Thranduil, he gathered her into his arms and stroked her hair. "I shall be back in the spring, but I shall miss you, _Iellig."_ He kissed her forehead. _"Cuio vae, Tauriel; raitho an glass."_

They all wiped their eyes, and went out through the Great Hall, to where things were loading up. The people were gathered around the wagons, saying a long, sad goodbye to their loved ones. The children, who had all made sure to visit the necessary, were loaded on the wagons, padded with hay and plenty of blankets. Bronwyn and her helpers divided themselves amongst the wagons for the orphans, and the rest of the children and elderly were with their families. Hilda made sure that food and snacks were packed for everyone, and the Healers helped to carefully load the infirm. In these wagons, hammocks had been strung, to avoid as much jostling as possible.

Thranduil received last-minute reports from the patrols, early this morning. There had been no activity, and no trace of spider's nests. Extra members of the Elven Guard will be posted in trees lining either side.

After they were on their way, Bard said to hid Elf, "I'm glad Tilda didn't give you a hard time about riding in the wagon today; I expected a last-ditch effort to change your mind." He was riding Fínlossen, his white stallion, toward the head of the caravan.

Thranduil grinned. "No, she did not. And she will not; I promised her and her siblings a gift, if they behave themselves."

"Ah. You bribed them. What's the gift?"

"That, Meleth, is a secret. In fact, there will be several such gifts for the children, to help them enjoy their time with us." Thranduil looked smug.

"You are going to spoil them rotten, aren't you?" Bard accused him, "They won't be fit to live with, when they come back in the spring!"

Thranduil said, seriously, "Bard, if spoiling young children who have lost their home and their loved ones, is the worst crime I ever commit, then I am ready to face judgment, before the Valar."

Bard considered this, then nodded, "I see your point. In that case, have at it."

"I thought you might agree." The Evenking said smugly, and they rode on for a while in comfortable silence.

Things were going smoothly so far. The road was almost frozen, which helped to wagons go a bit more smoothly, with no mud to hinder them. They were two hours into the trip, and the children were settled and content for now. The Healer put several of the injured into a healing sleep, and bundled them up. They would not be woken until well after they are settled in the Palace.

"Hang on, Thranduil. I'll be right back." Bard pulled his horse out of formation, and went to check on the children. They were in the first wagon, with several of the older women, who were looking after Rhian. He couldn't see them, because the covers were fitted on them, but he could hear pretty positive chatter, so that was encouraging.

Daeron was riding beside the wagon, so Bard pulled his horse next to him. "So, how do you feel about looking after my Sea Monsters all winter?"

"I am looking forward to it, My Lord. Despite what their father says about them," the Elf smirked, "I do not believe they are monsters."

"Well, if they fooled you, I guess they can fool anybody." Bard changed the subject. "I hear you've made friends with Rhian. How is she?"

Daeron looked alarmed. "My Lord, if you believe this is inappropriate-"

"Rest easy, I'm all for it. The girl has had a rough time, and she needs all the friends she can get. I'm curious though. What made her catch your eye?"

"When we first came to Dale, I saw her trying to carry some water, and I attempted to help her with it; she was with child, and I did not want her to hurt herself. When I saw marks on her wrists, I thought she might have gotten them when she left Laketown, and wanted to take her to the Healing Tent, but she would not go. I tried to examine her myself, but when I touched her, she jumped away, like I had burned her."

"I don't understand. Why would she do that?"

"Sire, when I was in Dale before Smaug came, I worked in the Healing House. There was a woman who had been badly bruised - she was covered in marks, and one eye was swollen shut. She was also pregnant, which is why they sent her to me - most of my practice there was midwifery."

"Really?" Bard was surprised.

Daren nodded. "This woman reacted the same way, around men, but she was persuaded to let me examine her. I healed her bruises and checked on the child, who was fine -"

"Thank the Stars."

"She refused to say who had done it - she said she fell down a flight of stairs - but we suspected the husband. He denied it, of course, and so did she. There was nothing more to be done."

"That's despicable." Bard's jaw clenched.

"It was much worse than that, I am sad to tell you."

"Why, what happened?"

"As soon as she was released, her husband came for her, and she went with him. She behaved as if she was ashamed, and was very meek, like she had been the cause of her affliction."

"It doesn't make sense! She could have gotten away from him!"

"My Lord, women who have been treated thus, become prisoners in their own minds. They are enslaved. They think it is their fault. They tell themselves their own situation is 'different' than others, who might be beaten, and they become convinced they could never survive if they left. It becomes logical to them to protect and make excuses for the one who has caused them pain, and it is very difficult for them to be released from their chains."

"Well, what happened then?"

"King Girion ordered him to bring her to see us frequently to check the child's progress - and for us to report anything else we find, which seemed to frighten the husband into restraint. He also had them watched closely. A couple of months later, shouting and screaming could be heard from their house, and the guards broke in, just in time to see him, in a drunken state, throw her over the second-floor railing. She never woke up, again, My Lord; her neck was broken."

"And the child died."

Daeron looked tormented at the memory. "I took extraordinary measures to save the little girl she carried," Daeron paused for a moment. "But it was too late."

Bard swore under his breath. "What happened to the husband?"

"Girion was furious, and had the husband brought before him, who tried to deny what he had done, saying she was clumsy, and fell a great deal. Then the man tried to convince the King that she was at fault, because she would provoke him, until he couldn't help himself."

 _"Bloody fucker!"_ he seethed, then looked sheepish. "Sorry… This is against everything I stand for! I hope the man was hung or something."

"King Girion decreed that the husband should be forced to experience all that he inflicted on her. The man showed his true colors as a coward, when he fell to his knees and begged for mercy." Daeron gave a smug, wry smile. "However, the King was savvy enough to use the man's own defense against him."

"How do you mean?"

"When the husband was beseeching the King to spare him, with many tears, I might add, Girion got up from his throne, and bent down to the man and said, 'But you have provoked me into anger, and I cannot help myself, can I? See what you make me do? This is your fault. I am sure you understand.'"

Bard's jaw set. "That was a brilliant. We're you there?"

"I was... unable to attend, but I was told of it, later."

"What happened to him?"

"He was stripped down and flogged. Two lashes for every bruise recorded on his wife's body, both in the first examination, and when she died. Five for her head wound, and fifteen for her internal wounds." Daeron paused. "He then received twenty lashes for murdering the innocent babe that was in her belly. As for the sexual assault -" Daeron gave Bard a meaningful look. "I am sure you can imagine what punishment was administered."

Bard nodded grimly. "Nothing he didn't deserve."

"The man was left to bleed to death, and no one was sorry. It was made plain to everyone in Dale that the King would never tolerate such treatment of a woman, and especially an innocent child."

"Oh, shit… No wonder you've taken such an interest in Rhian! This is one of those things that never leaves you, does it?"

Daeron frowned. "No, My Lord, it does not. I am not sorry Rhian's husband died in the destruction of Laketown, for it saved me the trouble of killing him myself." The Elf looked angry.

"I understand your feelings, but I'm sure you know that things like that must be done lawfully. Had he lived, I would much rather you bring him before me, and I would decide his fate. Although," he looked at the Guard, "I would've let you."

"My King knows the story, so I have no doubt he would have agreed with you." Daeron reassured him.

They rode along in companionable silence for a few minutes. Then Bard told the Elven guard. "I admire you for doing what you can to help this girl. Does she trust you?"

"Not at first. She is still suffering from shock and depression, but she has begun to speak with me a little. Perhaps it is because I am an Elf, and not a human, that makes her feel a bit more comfortable. She is no longer afraid of me, I believe, but she is wary."

"That's good news. Has she been examined by the Healers?"

"Only by the midwives, though she gets upset at being handled. She can not tolerate a male to touch her, not even me, or she panics. I'm glad to say she has allowed me to be present during these examinations, so I do an incantation to calm her." Daeron looked at the King of Dale in consternation. "I suspect, sire, that this girl's spouse had been forcing himself on her, and this is the cause of her shrinking from every touch."

 _"He WHAT?"_ Bard gritted his teeth. "That fucking bastard!"

Sigrid stuck her head out of the back of the covered wagon. "Da? What's wrong?"

"Everything's fine; Daeron was just telling me a bit of a story. Make sure everyone in there knows nothing's wrong."

"All right, but watch your language! We have children here!" Sigrid head disappeared.

Daeron smirked at Bard. "I like your daughter very much."

"Aye, between Sigrid and Hilda, they keep me on the straight and narrow. I wouldn't have it any other way. Thank you for telling me this, Daeron." He spurred his horse and went back up to join his husband and the head of the caravan.

Thranduil looked over at him, from his black stallion. "Is everything all right? I heard you shout, but there is nothing in the trees that tells me danger is near."

"Daeron was telling me of Rhian. Seems there is more to her injuries than we heard. He also told me about the man Girion had flogged to death for doing the same thing."

Thranduil's mouth was in a grim line. "I remember hearing of it. It was a difficult time for Daeron. I can also tell you, Girion sentence was just. He had no tolerance for the abuse of women and children, and his punishments were severe."

"And I plan on doing the same thing, should it ever occur in my Kingdom." He shook his head. "It's hard to believe a man could do that..."

"That is because you are a good Man, Bard, and this Garth was a monster."

Thranduil turned to the Captain to on his right, and issued orders. The soldier turned and rode off.

"Where's she going?"

"I wish her to check on all the wagons and report."

After a few minutes, the Elf returned, and they conversed for a few moments. The Elvenking urged his horse ahead and turned to face them, then raised his hand.

 _"DARO!"_ he commanded, in a loud voice. It took a few moments before the caravan to come to a complete stop.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing to be concerned about. The children need to heed the call of nature, that is all."

"Ah. Makes sense."

Soon, they were unloaded, and the women and some of the soldiers held up blankets to shield them from the cold, and aid in privacy. He saw Sigrid and Daeron helping Rhian carefully from the wagon, as well. Bard remembered Mattie having to use the necessary frequently as she got bigger. He and the rest of the Army kept watch over them, looking at the woods on either side carefully. He listened to the children and their caretakers quietly chatter, as they were taking care of business. There was Feren, helping Gruffudd along, and another Elf was helping with the two little girls, talking to them in low, soothing voices.

"Thranduil?"

"Yes, Bard?"

"I'm hearing birds, but it's too late in the year for them, isn't it?"

Thranduil looked at him incredulously. "You _can hear them?"_

"Well, yes. It's faint, but I can definitely hear birdsong. Shouldn't they have flown south? I know some don't but…"

"Bard, are you sure?" Thranduil's eyes narrowed.

"Yes, I'm sure! I've heard enough of them when I worked on the Forest River in the spring. Why?"

Thranduil was thoughtful. "What you hear are not birds, _Meleth nîn._ They are my Guardians in the trees, sending signals signals to us and to each other."

Bard examined the trees very carefully. "I don't see them."

"Neither do I, and that is as it should be. The Guardians of the Woodland Realm are trained to hide themselves well, and their sounds can only be heard by Elves." He looked at Bard meaningfully.

"You mean…"

"I think so, Bard. Just as your eyesight has grown keener since we joined, so has your hearing." He grinned at the Bowman.

Bard shook his head. "You're the gift that keeps on giving, love." He winked. "But I'll take it."

They sat on their horses, laughing and talking to each other, until suddenly, Bard could hear Sigrid's alarmed voice.

"Da! DA! ADA!"

They both turned toward their daughter, with concern. Sigrid and Daeron were trying to hold up Rhian between them, who was holding her belly and crying out in agony.

The girl was in labor.

.

.

 **ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:**

 _Oblet-haran_ – Check Mate (literally means "To imprison the king.")

 _Nae, nirnaeth!_ – That's terrible! (literally translated as "Alas, lamentations!

 _Hannon le, Gwathel. Cuio vae, ar no veren_ – Thank you, sister (sworn sister; not related) Farewell, and have a good time.

 _Gwador_ – brother (sworn brother; not related)

 _Cuio vae, Tauriel; raitho an glass_ – Farewell, Daughter of the Forest; try to be happy

 _DARO!_ – HALT!

.

.

 **NOTES:**

1.) For sufferers of Domestic Violence, there is a powerful explanation why they cannot bring themselves to leave. "Learned Helplessness" is a real phenomenon that happens to victims of domestic violence:

wiki/Learned_helplessness

It's incumbent up on ALL OF US take the time to understand these things, rather than jump to conclusions, in order to feel comfortable.

If you are a victim of domestic violence, please seek professional help. For those in the US, If you are in immediate danger, call 9-1-1. For anonymous, confidential help, 24/7 , please call the National Domestic Violence Hotline at 1-800-799-7233 (SAFE) ...

2.) Stratagem = Chess.

3.)Since Middle Earth is not known to have Priests or Bishops, I have substituted a Wizard for the Bishop.

4.) The earliest known game of chess goes back to the 6th century in India, although Persia, after it was conquered by the Arabs, developed it into the version we know today. Some historians believe that the Chinese had a part in this as well. Either way, the game is ancient, so I see no reason why Middle Earth wouldn't have its own. Besides, it's my fantasy verse, and I can do what I want, so there.

5.) A Datun is a stick used to clean teeth, used before the invention of toothbrushes. They could be made from many different aromatic trees, and were used for thousands of years, before toothbrushes were invented, in the 1500's, according to the Internet (and, if it's on the 'Net, you know it's true…). In Ancient England, one of twigs used were from the Apple tree, so that is what I decided Bard and his family use.

6.) Playing Cards have been around since 800 A.D.

7.) Draughts is what we call Checkers in America.


	29. Chapter 29

**Chapter Twenty-Nine**

**TRIGGER WARNING: Mentions of Domestic Abuse/Rape***

 **The Road to the Woodland Realm, 30th of December, 2941 T.A.**

Thranduil issued quick orders in Sindarin to the guards, who summoned a Healer to the first wagon quickly. Daeron scooped up Rhian who was sobbing, and carried her over to the wagon, as quickly as possible, transferred her to another guard, then he and Sigrid hopped up into the wagon, and helped her inside.

All was silent, as they waited for the Elénaril, the Healer and Hannah, midwife from Dale, who arrived moments after that, and went in. After several long minutes, the Healer came out, looking concerned. Bard and Thranduil had dismounted by that time, and waited by the entrance of the wagon, where a crowd was gathering.

"What's going on? How is she?" Bard anxiously asked Elénaril as she hopped down from the wagon.

"My Lord, she is definitely in labor. Her waters have broken, and she had been having pains for some time."

"Well, why did she not say something before we began our journey!?" Thranduil demanded, louder than he meant to, while an agonized wail came from the wagon.

"She did not _say anything_ because of how you just reacted!" Elénaril snapped, as she glared at him.

Thranduil closed his eyes, took a breath and calmed himself down. "My apologies."

The Healer nodded, satisfied that her reprimand hit home. "Rhian did not realize what was happening, at first, because the pain was in her back, and not her belly. It happens sometimes with human females. She is young and inexperienced in these matters, and was afraid to be the cause of holding up the journey. That young girl is extremely upset, which is not good for her, or the child."

"We wouldn't have blamed her!" Bard said.

"Lord Bard, she has been conditioned to blame herself. Please remember that this poor girl has been beaten down, and it will take a long time to recover from all she has been through." The Elven healer chastised both Kings with a stern, withering look, and put her hands on her hips, _"which is why you will control your temper, yes?"_

"Yes," Thranduil rolled his eyes. "I understand. Is she all right?"

"How far apart are her contractions?" Bard asked.

"I believe about five or so minutes. What helps us, is that this is her first child, and they can take hours to arrive. Mistress Hannah has checked her, and she is still in the early stages, so we must continue. We cannot proceed much faster, as the jostling of the wagon could provoke an earlier birth, which could be injurious to her and the babe."

"You recommend that we proceed, and at the same pace?" Thranduil asked the Healer.

"I do. I would also recommend that the wagon be cleared of everyone but the midwife, Lady Sigrid, and Daeron. He has more experience with this than I do; he has delivered thousands of human babies in Dale. He should stay in the wagon with her. The young girl needs quiet and absolute calm." Another pointed look at the two Kings. "I am sorry, but I must attend to my own patients who have need of me." She looked apologetic.

"Will she want Daeron to stay?" Bard asked.

"She has asked for him. I have seen him accompany her on her visits to the Healing tent, and I believe she will do better if he could remain."

Bard looked at him, and the Elvenking nodded his assent. "Then that's what we'll do. Please see it done, and let's get moving, as carefully as we can."

Thranduil issued orders and the passengers of the first wagon were dispersed, and they were soon on their way. The subdued nature of what was going on up front, seemed to help everyone else be quiet.

As the caravan began its journey once more, Bard teased, "I didn't think anyone could be as intimidating as Hilda, but Elénaril could give her a run for her money!"

"I would not wish to bet on either of them in a fight," Thranduil smiled. "To be serious, Bard, she is an excellent Healer, and she was right to chastise us. Any Healer in my Realm will put the well-being of their patient first."

"It's a good policy," Bard agreed. "Who is your Healer?"

"Her husband, Ermon," his mouth twitched, "the only Elf since Mírelen who can boss me around."

"Good thing I'm not an Elf, then."

They continued at a careful, but steady pace, only stopping once more for a necessary break. The cries from the first wagon continued, followed by soothing murmurs by Sigrid, Hannah and Daeron, jangled everyone's nerves, and set the Elvenking's on edge.

Finally, after six-and-a-half hours, the entrance to the Halls of the Woodland Realm was in sight.

Bard heaved a sigh of relief."I don't think I've seen anything so beautiful in all my life!"

"I'm amazed the children behaved so well."

"I am not. I ordered a losta-luith so the children could sleep the last three hours." At Bard's sharp look, the Elvenking, said, "They were cold, and uncomfortable. It is too much to ask of any child to be still for that long and not get upset."

"You put my children to sleep?" Bard accused.

"I will not apologize for that, Bard. The safety of these people is my responsibility. We discussed this." Thranduil's gaze was determined.

Bard's mouth was a grim line for a few minutes, then he sighed. "You're right, of course. Forgive me, love. I'm just not used to all the things Elves can do, but that's my problem to deal with, not yours."

"You are forgiven, Meleth nîn." The Elvenking smiled at him.

Then another pained cry came from the first wagon, which snapped both Kings to attention.

"Daeron!" Thranduil called toward the back of the wagon. When the Elf stuck his head out, he asked in Sindarin, _"How is she?"_

" _Not well, My King, we need to get Rhian inside as soon as possible!"_

After quietly translating for Bard, he said,

the Elvenking gave orders to Feren:"Keep everyone in the wagons, have them brought in one at a time, to be." Then he said to Bard, "I'm going ahead and alert the Healers to make ready for our patients." The Elvenking urged his stallion forward, then took off at a full gallop, his hair and cape flying in the wind, as Feren moved into his place beside Bard, issuing orders to the officers that moved into formation.

Once Thranduil's horse reached the bridge, the horns were sounded announcing their arrival. His silver-black cape billowed in the air behind him, as he galloped over the wide bridge as the great doors opened. Upon entering, he dismounted, and handed his reigns over.

"Welcome back, My King." Lady Emëldir, head of Thranduil's Council approached. "How was your journey?"

"Too long. I am afraid we have an urgent situation. There is a woman about to give birth, and we need to get her to the Healing Halls immediately. Her health is delicate, so Daeron, King Bard and I will be attending to her. I've ordered that the wagons be brought in separately. Is everyone in place to help our guests to their quarters?"

"They are on their way, My Lord."

"Excellent. Galion will see to it that King Bard's younger children be made comfortable. His eldest daughter will accompany her father and myself. Commander Feren will be personally escorting two young girls and an older gentleman, who will need help walking. Anyone who is not attending to the wagons or horses is to assist the refugees until they are all settled."

"As you wish. It shall be done."

Just as the words were said, the first wagon came in, and another pained cry could be heard. The Council member turned to the Elvenking in consternation, before turning away to attend to her duties with haste.

As the wagon stopped, the back flap opened up and the tail of the wagon was lowered. Daeron, carrying the girl in his arms, carefully set her down on the end, then jumped over her gracefully, landing on the ground, as only an Elf can do. Then he turned and reached for her, with Sigrid's help. The girl was in sobbing in agony, tears streaked down her face, and her long, brown hair was soaked with sweat.

He picked her up, and kept murmuring soothing words in Sindarin, started toward the infirmary, with Sigrid, the midwife, and both Kings following behind.

Bard and Thranduil sat on chairs in the corridor outside of the room, nervous as two young fathers, lost in their own memories. Thranduil recalled walking into the room and gasping at the sight of Mírelen, holding little Legolas, and looking up at him with an exhausted, yet brilliant smile. Her eyes were shining with wonder at the new life their love had created.

"Bard?" He looked at his husband, who was sitting with his elbows in his knees, with clasped hands and white knuckles.

The Bowman turned looked at him, with worried, sad eyes.

"What are you thinking of?"

"When Tilda was born. I can't help it." Bard admitted. "So many things can go wrong, Thranduil. Rhian's sickly and weak, just like Mattie… One, or both of them, could die." The Bowman, shook his head, and rubbed his hand over his face.

Thranduil reached for Bard's hand, massaging it. "I am sorry. I do not know what to say to offer much comfort, but take heart; there is much an Elven Healer can do that your people cannot. I hope that helps a little."

"It does. A little." Bard didn't look comforted at all.

The Elvenking moved his chair closer, and put his arm around his husband's shoulder, as they waited for the newest citizen of Dale to make his or her way into the world.

"Rhian, you're doing so well, love. Now, I need you to take deep breaths, and blow out slowly. Can you do that?" The midwife was speaking with the girl in a gentle voice. "Come now, let me show you, like this…"

Rhian, exhausted and frightened, did her best to focus on the midwife's face and imitated her, trying to sync their breathing but it hurt to take big breaths. Sigrid was on her other side, holding her hand, and sponging off her face. She didn't want to do this. She didn't feel anything for this baby, and she hated herself for it.

She hated everything about her life, and just wanted it to stop. She didn't care about anything anymore.

 _Garth had been charming when he first swept her off of her feet. Rhian had always been painfully shy, since her Mam had died, and when he came along, Rhian could hardly believe this outgoing, handsome man would want her! The young man did his level best to impress her father, and carefully cultivated a friendly relationship with him._

 _Rhian's father had never been particularly loving and attentive to his daughter. When her Mam died, from the fever that was sweeping through Laketown that year, he resented being saddled with the young girl to raise on his own. She was even more of a disappointment to him, because of her shyness, so when this young, ambitious man pressed his suit, he was more relieved, than anything else, to rid himself of her. Enamored with this young man, her father easily gave his consent to marry her, even though she was so young._

 _Things began change with Garth, shortly after their wedding. He grew more and more impatient, becoming harsh with his words, and eventually, cruel with his fists. She had tried to leave, and went to her father for help, but he refused to accept that such a polite, respectful man could ever act that way. Garth had appeared on her father's doorstep, flowers in hand, and, with his handsome, winning smile, spoke sweet words to her in front of her Da. It didn't take much for Garth to convince her Da it was all a misunderstanding, and Rhian was just being silly and exaggerating. He ordered his daughter go back to her husband, telling her that if she refused to go, she would be on her own._

 _She had no choice._

 _Once in the privacy of their house, Garth beat her, then dragged her into their bedroom by her hair, and raped her. The only thing she could do was take her mind to another place, and stay there, while all these things were happening._

 _Her life became an exercise in tiptoeing around his temper, trying not to set him off, doing everything he said, trying to give him everything he wanted, before he would even ask for it, so that he would be kinder to her. He would not allow her to visit friends, or to go anywhere except to the market. He controlled every area of her life, and would punish her severely for 'breaking the rules,' even when she had not._

 _When Rhian realized she was pregnant, she concealed it, trying to pretend it didn't exist, both to her husband, and to herself. There was no love in this home, and there was nothing she had to offer a child. She didn't feel like there was anything left of herself to give._

 _Eventually, it was unavoidable that Garth noticed her growing belly. And for a time, he was kind. He bragged to everyone about the son he was going to have, and did his best to convince everyone of their happy home. This was easily done, as, outside of the home, Garth was affable, friendly and put on a perfect "public face." No one would ever believe that the man behaved the way he did in the privacy of his own home._

 _Her father was over the moon at the idea of a grandchild, and he and Garth spent hours together, drinking and toasting to his heir. Rhian smiled, and allowed herself to be a little hopeful that maybe this baby would solve her problems. Maybe this baby would help Garth to change his ways! She clung to the idea desperately, to find the strength to get through her days._

 _Her hopes were dashed, when, after a night out drinking, her husband slammed into the house and dragged her into the bedroom. When she tried to resist, he beat her savagely, always avoiding her stomach, but dealt bruising blows. Then he raped her, again, the stench of whisky breathing into her face, making her nauseous._

 _She didn't utter a word or make a sound. She could only retreat to that place outside of herself, to endure it._

 _A few hours later, her husband was passed out cold, and snoring by her side. She got up to go to the necessary, when she heard a terrible roar, and shouting outside. Pulling a coat over her night clothes, she ran out to the walkway, and saw the flames. The Dragon woke up, they were saying; Get out! She quickly ran in and snatched some warmer clothes, and ran back out, trying to get the attention of one of the boats making their way out of the city._

 _Soon, a skiff stopped and let her get in. It was Old Ben. "Come on, sweetheart. Gently now, let's get you settled." The kindly old man sat her down and wrapped her in a blanket. "Now, wait here, and I'll go help Garth gather your things, and we'll be on our way."_

 _As if in a dream, she reached out for Old Ben's arm, to stop him. She heard herself say, "Garth's not home. He's down at the pub." Her husband's favorite pub was on the other side of town, so there would be no way for Ben to know any different. She looked at the old man with empty, defeated eyes, which Ben had mistaken for calmness._

 _He patted her shoulder. "Well, don't you worry. Likely he'll catch a ride down there. Let's get you out of here." Ben used his long pole to steer though the streets and they were able to pick up some other refugees, and get to the edge of town, before Smaug laid his fiery paths through Laketown._

 _She could hear the screams of terror, and the cries of the dying. She felt nothing. She watched the townspeople make their way out of the town, shouting and desperately calling to their loved ones. Still, she felt empty inside. She didn't know where her Da was, and she didn't wish to find him. Rhian turned her head, and against the bright light of the flames saw the outline of her own house, and watched, as Smaug opened his huge maw and engulfed it in flames, destroying it, and the monster of a man she had married._

 _She felt absolutely nothing. She was a murderer, and there was nothing inside of her anymore, to even care about it._

Now, as she lay in the room, with Daeron on one side, and Sigrid on the other, she was panting, trying to cope with her pains, which seemed only seconds apart.

"I can't do this, please! Please don't make me do this! I can't!"

"Yes, you can, love." She heard the midwife say, from her place at the foot of the bed.

"I can't have it!" She said, before she could stop herself, groaning loudly. "I can't want it!"

"Of course, you do, dearie! You'll see. I know you're scared, but you just think on this beautiful wee one who will be in your arms…"

"NO!" She screamed. Then her words were incoherent as yet another stab of agony gripped her.

She felt Daeron's hand grip hers, and through the grey haze of pain, he brought his face close. "Look at me, Rhian. It is going to be all right; do you trust me?"

"Don't…" she sobbed. "D-don't be nice to me…"

 _She and her Da had been in the refugee camp for two weeks, when he sent her for some water._

" _Two buckets, girl," he ordered. "And be quick about it!"_

 _But she wasn't. Her side hurt so bad she could barely take a deep breath, and when she picked up the full buckets she couldn't help but cry out in pain._

 _"My Lady? Are you well?" she heard a voice say, as she held herself around her ribs, waiting for the pain to subside. She opened her eyes, and saw a tall Elf, with dark auburn hair and a friendly smile. "May I help you with this?"_

 _She froze, tongue-tied, and blinking rapidly. Then she shook her head, "No, thank you." And she reached down again, for the bucket handle._

 _A smooth, long-fingered hand took her arm, observing the bruises he saw there, with concerned eyes. Rhian jerked her arm back instantly as if the Elf's fingers were white-hot, and she jumped back with wide eyes, wincing from the pain. "No! Please..." She looked at the ground, ashamed and embarrassed. "I... I must go."_

 _"But, My Lady..." He picked up the bucket, as she fled, looking at the ground. He followed her to the tent she shared with her father and dove inside, her heart pounding with fear and shame. She heard the sound of the bucket being set down near the entrance, then nothing._

 _She saw him only from a distance, twice more, before the Battle. Her father had been killed, that day, so once the Dale encampment had been reorganized, Lady Hilda and Hannah assigned her to a tent with two kindly older women. She didn't mourn her Da anymore than she mourned Garth._

 _Shortly after the cleanup had begun, the dark-haired Elf appeared at her tent, politely introducing himself, and chatted with the ladies for a few moments. Then he smiled and bowed at them, before taking his leave. He began to visit her tent on a regular basis, when he was off-duty as King Bard's Chief guard. His presence made her uncomfortable and afraid, at first. What if he was like Garth? Garth was friendly, helpful and charming, but then... what if this Elf turned out to be the same way? She didn't have the nerve to tell him to stay away, so she simply refused to talk to him, hoping he would get the hint._

 _But Daeron kept coming and sitting, doing little except be there. At first, he didn't even say anything to her. He spoke to her companions in a friendly, easy manner, and the older ladies delighted in him. Aside from that first day, when he tried to help her carry the water, he never tried to touch her._

 _Very slowly, she got used to his presence, and would say an occasional word to him. He would tell her stories, of the old Dale, or of his forest, as she sat quietly and listened. Not once did he ask her about her injuries, or her life in Laketown. He didn't seem to want anything from her; if she spoke to him, he was calm and relaxed, and if she didn't, he acted exactly the same._

 _Rhian didn't want to like him. She couldn't like him, she told herself, because she didn't deserve his friendship. He would hate her, when he learned the terrible thing she had done._

This young girl was going to die if Daeron didn't think of something, fast.

"Rhian? Please, do you trust me?" Daeron looked into her eyes, smiling, reassuring. "You must try to calm down and take deep breaths."

"Lovey, I think we need to start pushing your baby out, now. It's ready!" Hannah was calm and reassuring. "Let's bring this little one into the world, shall we?"

Terrified, she looked to Daeron again, eyes wide and teary. "I'm so scared."Her teeth began to chatter from shock and pain. "Please…. Help me. I don't d-deserve any of this."

The Elf put his other hand on her cheek. "Don't ever think that, Rhian. You are more than good enough for your child."

"But you don't know…" She sobbed. "I w-won't be allowed to when the K-King- AAH!" Another contraction, with an overpowering urge to bear down. Daeron and Sigrid each put a hand on her back, and held each leg behind her knees, sitting her up, to begin to push the baby out.

While she was pushing, Daeron looked over at Sigrid, concerned and puzzled. She didn't look as if she knew what the girl was talking about either. But it was enough to terrify her.

"Come now, love, push!" Hannah ordered, but Rhian was holding back, and panting, and terrified.

"NO! I CAN'T! I can't, please! Don't make me…" The girl sobbed, and couldn't catch her breath. Rhian was hysterical, and hyperventilating, which was endangering both her and the baby.

Daeron was worried. He needed her to be awake enough to push, so he couldn't put her to sleep. Whatever happened with this girl, he knew she'd done nothing to merit terror to this extreme. Something had to be done. Now. A sudden thought occurred to him.

Daeron took her face in his hands, and made her look at him. "Rhian, I need to step out for just a few moments. I promise you; I will be right back. Do you believe me?"

"No, please…don't leave me! Please…" She begged him, panting and crying. "It hurts, I can't breathe…"

He stroked her brow. "I will only be a moment or two. You trust me, do you not? I will help you, I promise."

She nodded.

Quickly, he squeezed her hand and dashed out of the room.

"My Lord Bard?"

The two Kings shot up out of their chairs. "What's wrong?" Bard asked, looking pale. "Is she all right? What's happened?" Daeron saw Thranduil place his hand on the King of Dale's shoulder, calming him.

"I need your help."

"Me?" Bard and Thranduil looked at each other, then back at Daeron.

"Rhian is terrified about something, My Lord."

"I don't understand."

"I think something terrible has happened, she's afraid you will take her child away, if you find out. Do you have any idea what she is referring to?"

Bard looked puzzled. "No, I don't. If Hilda knew anything, she would've told me, I'm sure of it. I wouldn't be too concerned – her husband's death was the best thing that's ever happened to her."

"I am _very_ concerned, My Lord. She is in a terrible state, and is trying to keep herself from giving birth, she's not able to take in enough air for her and the baby, and both could die."

"What do you need?"

"Would you promise to pardon her, unconditionally? Perhaps if she knows that she will remain safe, she can allow herself to calm down and breathe."

Bard looked at him, brows furrowed. "Daeron, what you ask of me is a serious thing."

"I understand, My Lord. But, do you honestly think this young girl has done something to merit having her child taken away from her? After everything she has been through?"

The King of Dale considered, carefully. "No," he said. "No, I don't. Go back in there, and tell her she has my unconditional pardon, provided she does everything you and the midwife tell her to do. Go!"

"Thank you!" The Elf dashed back inside.

Bard went to the entrance of the infirmary and sent for Hilda. When she arrived, she had a concerned look on her face. "Is the girl all right?"

"No, she's not, Hil, and I need your help." Bard sat her down, and asked her to tell him everything she knew about how Rhian made it to the shore.

"She came with Old Ben and a few others. Her husband was where he always was, in that damned pub. She was in the house alone that night, and Ben went to get her first, because of the baby."

"Do you know anyone here who was in that pub that night?"

"A couple. Everyone's been sharing stories of where they were and what they were doing when the Dragon woke up."

Bard's mind quickly turned gears. "This is important Hil; I need you to find out everything you can about who was there that night. I need to know exactly what they witnessed. Come back right away as soon as you know anything, and don't tell them I asked."

"Sure thing." She left with her escort.

"What do you think happened?" Thranduil asked him.

"I do not understand."

"I don't either. But I need to know more, before I try and guess."

They waited for a while, listening to the girl in question struggle, and to the encouraging voices of those with her.

When Hilda came back with some news, Bard could pretty much piece together the young woman's story, and made his decision how to handle it.

Then Bard sat back down to wait with Thranduil, and tried not to think of Mattie.

All the questions and answers in the world wouldn't mean a think if that girl died.


	30. Chapter 30

**Chapter Thirty**

 **.**

 **The Woodland Realm, 30** **th** **of December 2941 T.A.**

"Rhian, come on, you're doing so great!" Sigrid had her hand, still sponging her off, then squeezed a cold, wet cloth against her mouth, which was gratefully accepted. Rhian had been panting and pushing for so long, her lips were chapped.

Again, and again, Daeron and Sigrid lifted her back up and almost folding her in half, encouraged her when she pushed hard, and laid her back and praised her in between pains. It was going on forever. She was so tired, each time she wasn't having a pain, she was fast asleep.

"I don't think she's got anything left, Daeron. She's completely exhausted, poor mite." Hannah, the midwife was concerned.

"I see." Daeron said, looking down at the barely conscious girl. "It is better if she can do this herself, but if she cannot, she simply cannot." He stroked her brow, and murmured a _losta-luith,_ putting her to sleep.

He and Sigrid pulled her into a sitting position, then he crawled up on the bed behind her and situated her between his legs, with his arms around her. When the next contraction came, her body became tense, Daeron put his chin on her shoulder, and placed his hands on her belly, speaking smoothly in Quenya. He was asking the baby to come, and he was asking her body to help. Daeron closed his eyes and concentrated. It was a little boy, and babe was struggling in distress, and calling out for help, as his little heart slowed down.

Daeron sent reassurance to the child, _I am here with you, little one…_ _I will help you..._ He closed his eyes _. Show me…_

There; it was there. He moved more blood through the cord to give the baby what he needed. The baby's heartbeat increased, much to his relief.

 _Come into the light, child. It is time, and I will help you... Let us bring you into the light, and all will be well..._

Rhian lay in his arms, oblivious, as Daeron and the child worked together to bring him into the world. The Elf kept sending comfort and strength to baby, and helped the girl's body to push him out.

"I can see the head!" Hannah cried. "Sigrid, come down here and get the towels and blankets ready. Daeron, whatever it is your doing, keep it up!" Hannah was busy now, making preparations. "That's it, love. Get some water in that basin over there and make sure it's warm, but not too hot. I think three towels ought to do it. My lands! This place is outfitted nicely, and so organized!"

Hannah spoke to Sigrid in a confident, encouraging voice. "Now, get ready, I'm going to bring this child into the world and you're going to help me do it. Bring me the scissors and two pieces of string, and dip them in the spirits to make sure they're nice and clean, love." Sigrid did as she was told and placed them on the table next to the midwife. She and Sigrid both washed their hands thoroughly. "Now, sit there on the bed across from me…"

Daeron was still focused, making each contraction longer and stronger. The baby boy's heart rate was slowing down again - too low; he wasn't getting nearly enough oxygen, and was in danger. "Hannah, the boy is suffocating; if he is not born in the next minute, he may die. When the head comes out, get the cord away from his neck right away."

Hannah met his eyes and nodded. "You get his head out, and I'll take care of it, love." To Sigrid she said, "Did you hear that? It's a boy, and wants to be a trouble-maker."

"Will he be all right?" the girl asked anxiously.

"We'll be ready. Sigrid, I might have to cut the cord before he's completely born, if he's hanged himself on it, so you're going to hold his head steady, all right? Keep him still, and do exactly as I tell you, and everything will be just fine." To Daeron she said, "Are you ready, dear? Let's get this done."

Between keeping the child's vital signs steady and strong, and helping Rhian's body push, Daeron's energy was draining at a rapid pace, but he had to keep going; to give up now would mean the death of the child, and possibly the young woman, as well.

Hannah had her hand on Rhian's belly. "Here comes another one! Sigrid, put your hands here on her belly like me and we'll help her push him out. It's now or never Daeron, give it all you've got.

Daeron took a deep breath, gathered what strength he had, and forced the baby's head under the pelvic bone down the birth canal.

"That's it! Head's out! Sigrid support his head. Got him? Wonderful: now, I'll just be a moment…"

She quickly tried to loop the cord around his head, but there wasn't enough of it.

The baby's heart was hardly working, now. "Hurry!"

"It's stuck!" Sigrid cried.

"It's all right; we'll cut the cord where he is." With practiced speed, she quickly worked her way around the cord with the strings, tied them off tightly. "You ready with the scissors, lovey? Go ahead and cut it now... There we go! Daeron, you still with me, up there?"

"Yes," he murmured weakly, panting, eyes closed.

"One more push, now!"

Daeron used the last of his strength, and connected again and shook from the effort to push the child into the world. His shoulders slumped with a sigh, and listened to the delighted squeals of the women who received child into their hands.

"He's here!" Sigrid squealed with delight.

"Aye, but he's pretty blue, so let's get him breathing. Take those towels, start rubbing him down briskly, will you?" The midwife cleared his nose and mouth, then picked up the baby's foot and flicked her fingers against the soles of his feet. "Come on, sweetheart… come on…" She did it again. "Take a breath for me…"

The child emitted a few small squeaks, then filled the room with howls of outrage.

"That's a good boy!" Hannah crowed. "That's it, you keep crying and get those lungs working! Are you all right there, Daeron?"

The Elf opened his mouth, but no words came out. His arms were still around Rhian, and he collapsed against the wall. Only a few cries reached his ears before his world became grey, then black.

Bard was instantly on his feet at the sound of the baby's cries.

"Congratulations." Thranduil kissed Bard's temple. "Your Kingdom as increased by one, _Meleth nîn._ "

"But what about Rhian? Oh, gods…"

Thranduil put his arm around his shoulder. "I am sure it is fine, Bard."

"Well, I'm _not_ sure!" he snapped. "This all feels too much like Mattie." Bard's arm was across his stomach.

"Is this the first birth you've been involved in since she died Bard?"

"Aye," he admitted. "Sometimes it doesn't matter how much time passes, I guess."

"But that was then, and this is different, Bard. Daeron is in there with them; he will not let anything happen to either one of them."

After a few minutes, Sigrid came out of the room, carrying a small bundle wrapped in a soft, grey blanket.

"Look!" She whispered. "It's a little boy!" She brought him to Bard and Thranduil, and they both looked down at the baby. He was asleep, with his little elbow was against his cheek, as his hand grasped his ear. The boy had lots of dark hair, just like Bain, when he was first born. He was mesmerized, but soon his anxiety returned.

"How is Rhian?" he asked Sigrid. "We didn't hear her..."

Sigrid was quick to reassure him. "She's fine, Da, she really is fine. She was completely worn out, so Daeron had to put her to sleep. Somehow, he managed to do it for her, and helped the baby. I have no idea how he did it, but he did."

"Ada," her eyes met his with concern. "You need to go in; Daeron's unconscious and very pale."

" _Ai, gorgor!"_ his eyes widened in alarm. "I must go to him Bard; will you be all right here?"

"I'll be fine. Go look after him."

Thranduil kissed Sigrid on the cheek. "I am proud of you, _Iellig_. You did an outstanding job. I will see you in a while, Bard." And he dashed into the back.

Bard made to go after him, but Sigrid stopped her Da. "Oh, no you don't. Hannah is still cleaning Rhian up, and the last thing we need, is for you go in there and upchuck all over everything. Ada can take care of Daeron. You sit here with the baby, a while." She handed the bundle to him, kissed his hair as he sat down, and left again.

Bard looked down at the bundle in his arms. Now the little one's eyes were open, considering him, and he marvel at the small miracle in his hands, as all new babies are.

"Hello there! Welcome to Middle Earth, lad; I hope you like it here with us." He began to talk to the boy in low murmuring tones, getting up and pacing the room, rocking him gently, introducing himself to his new subject, and sharing his hopes of what Dale will be some day. The baby liked his voice; he looked up at Bard with trusting eyes. Then he took his hand away from his ear, smacked his little lips and stretched, reaching his arm up. Bard let him clasp his tiny hands around his calloused finger.

"You've got a strong grip, lad! Maybe you'll grow up and join Dale's Army, yeah?"

The baby returned these compliments with several tiny sneezes, which made the King of Dale laugh and cry at the same time.

Later, after Bard went to the Royal Chambers and had a wash, he checked on Bain and Tilda, he made his way through the winding halls and walkways to check on the progress. They all had found spaces and were busy making themselves comfortable, with the Elves falling over themselves to help. Everyone was eager for news about the Dale's newest citizen, and when he announced mother and son were fine, smiles and sighs of relief went up all around.

Hilda was busy overseeing things, but she was looking ragged. "You're done in, Hil; go get some rest. Everything's well in hand, here.

"I can't Bard! There's still too much to—"

He held up his hand to silence her. "You're exhausted, and as you can see, our people have more than enough help. You've done a brilliant job, but you're coming with me now." Bard spoke to a few of the other ladies, who assured him they would finish up. Taking her hand and placing it in the crook of his arm, he escorted her to the Royal Wing, where they met up with Galion.

"You're just the person I was hoping to see. The Lady Hilda needs some rest, so if you would be so kind as to report to her in a couple of hours as to my people's progress, it would be much appreciated."

Galion bowed, "As you wish. You will be in your apartment, My Lady?"

Bard replied for her. "She will either be in hers, or in with Bain and Tilda. Either way, I would like it if someone brings a light snack and tea for her, and she is to rest until dinner tonight."

He looked at her severely. "That is my order as your King. I need you too much, for you to wear yourself out." He kissed her irritated cheek and opened her door, "Now, go lie down." She huffed and flounced, but she went in and closed the door behind her.

"Thank you, Galion. Should I order a guard outside her door?" He smirked to the Aide.

"You may have to. She works terribly hard." Galion smiled.

"She does. I'm lucky to have her and Percy."

"I agree, _Hîr nîn._ We all are."

Bard went into his chambers, where Thranduil was sitting on one of the couches, so he went to join him.

"How is Daeron?"

"He has been placed in his own room and is resting. He was unconscious when I reached him; he used almost all his strength to save Rhian and the child. It was a dangerous thing for him to do, but I cannot disagree with his actions. It will be a several days before he will be released for duty. Maybe more."

"How is Rhian and the baby?"

"It was agreed she needed to sleep for a long while to recover, so both she and Daeron have been put under a losta-luith for at least a day. Elénaril and your midwife told me if Daeron had not assisted as he had, the babe would have perished, and the girl with him. She was too weak, and there were some last-minute complications."

Bard became sober. "I'm glad I didn't know it until now," he said quietly. 'Last-minute complications' are what killed my wife."

Warm lips kissed his temple. "I am sorry. But you are here with me now, and all is well, yes?"

Bard leaned his head into his Elf. "Yes, it is. What about the baby?"

"They found a nursing mother among your people, and the boy will be taken to her for feedings until Rhian is awake. Sigrid and Hannah are looking after him."

Bard sat back on the couch, head back and eyes closed. "What a day!" He laughed a little. "It was more than we were expecting, wasn't it?"

"You will have many such days as a King, Meleth nîn. But you will also have me to help you."

"I will, won't I?" He smiled, kissed Thranduil, several times, thoroughly. "When will dinner be served?"

"The dinner bell usually rings about three hours from now. If you need to rest some, we have time."

"I can't. Too much is going on, and the kids might need me, until they get used to things, here."

As if on cue, the main chamber door was opened by a guard, and Tilda tore across the room and bounced on the couch beside them. "Hi Da! It's so pretty here!" She lisped.

"I'm glad you like it, Little Bean. What do you think of your room?"

"I LOVE it!" She bounced some more. Then she looked around the chambers. "Ooh, this is pretty, too."

"You think so, Tithen Pen?" Thranduil asked her. "Would you like me to show it to you?"

She grinned and jumped back off the couch and pulled Thranduil up by his hand. "Let's go!"

Bard leaned his head back again and listened with a smile as his daughter and his husband traveled from room to room, chatting away.

Yet the events of this afternoon worried him. It wasn't hard to guess why the young girl lying in the infirmary was so terrified. Bard had a strong hunch about what really occurred, but the only way to know for sure was to question her. How could he get her to talk without scaring the life out of her?

Bard had promised to pardon her, if she told the truth, and he would follow through with it, but the main reason why he wanted her to speak of it was not for his sake, but for her own.

If these past weeks with Thranduil taught him anything, it was that Darkness of any kind must be brought to light, and that poor child's heart was filled with it. As her King, he was obligated to help her. As a father himself, he had to; Sigrid wasn't much younger than Rhian and he couldn't bear to contemplate her in such an unhappy, neglected state.

But it will wait.

Thranduil put his finger to his lips, and motioned Tilda to be quiet, as they came back into the living area, to find Bard fast asleep, with his mouth slightly open.

He quietly went over to Bard, gently eased him into a lying position with a pillow under his head, and pulled a blanket over him. After kissing him on the brow, he went back over to their youngest, and whispered. "Let us give him a nice nap. He's had a long day, _Tithen Pen."_ He reached for her hand. "Come."

And they tiptoed out of the chamber and quietly shut the door.

He told the guard to let Bard sleep, and went into the children's apartment. "Hello, Bain! How do you like your winter home?"

"This is great! You're _sooooo_ lucky!"

Thranduil smiled. "I am glad you like it. Have you seen the rest of the Palace?"

"Not yet."

"Well, your Da is taking a nap, and if you would let me, I would be happy to show you around. We need to visit your people, so I will need the Prince and Princess of Dale to accompany me."

Still holding Tilda's hand, and with Bain on his other side, they made their way to the Dining Hall, and he showed them the floors and the chandeliers. He pointed out the dais with the long table, where they would be sitting tonight. "We will only join the others for dinner occasionally, children. For the most part, I would like it if we ate in my chambers." He smiled down at Tilda. "Your Da and I do not care much for being on display. I thought you might prefer not to be, either."

Bain considered this. "I think the people might need to see us once in a while, but not every night."

He looked at Bain. "You are quite right. As the Crown Prince, you are your father's representative to your people. You all are. He is needed in Dale, so you all must do what you can to encourage them to feel good about being here. Can you think of ways to do this?"

Tilda reminded him, "I'm supposed to be listening. Especially to the orphans, right?"

"Right. Very good, _Tithen Pen_."

"And I can help Galion and Hilda with people of Dale, when I'm not at lessons or practice." Bain said.

"This is also true. But you need not do this all the time. I wish for you to have fun. Perhaps you can find ways to play with the children, while their mothers are busy. Or, do you think perhaps your elderly might like visits from the Prince and Princesses of Dale?"

Bain and Tilda both nodded.

"I think so too. Now, let us continue."

He showed them some of the Palace – and said no to Bain's request to see the dungeons – then they all went to the Visitor's Wings.

Thranduil was pleased at the progress. The people of Dale were talking excitedly to one another and in awe of their surroundings. For most of them, this the nicest place they ever lived in. He and the children wandered through the halls, greeting those who came out to meet him, answering questions and giving them his personal welcome. Bain was taking his job as Prince seriously, as he was asking his people questions about their comfort and telling them he hoped they had a good time while they are here. Tilda smiled and waved to her friends, and, when they reached the Orphans' rooms, she patted Thranduil's side.

"May I please go sit with them?"

"Certainly, _hênig_."

She motioned for him to come closer, and he bent down. She whispered into his ear. "So, I can listen to them." He smiled down at her and she took off.

There was Feren and Glélindë, so Thranduil excused himself from Bain, who was chatting with some older boys, and went over to them. They had been helping Bronwyn, along with many other Elf volunteers, and now they were sitting on the floor, with a blonde, curly-haired child in each of their laps. "Good afternoon. I see you have met some special children." He smiled down at Glélindë, who had the younger one in her lap, eyes shining.

"Did you have a nice trip, _hînnith?"_ he asked Alis and Dafina. They looked up at him with their blue eyes, nodding. Feren had told him Alis was five years old, and Dafina had just turned three, and both had enough natural charm to wrap anyone around their little finger.

"Where is their grandfather?" he asked Feren.

"Gruffudd was tired from the journey, and he is resting. Our corridor is quiet, and it is near where the elderly of Dale will be staying, away from the constant noise of small children."

"I am glad someone thought of it. I certainly did not." Thranduil marveled. "Then again, we are not used to having the aged here in the Palace."

"We can thank the Lady Hilda and Galion. They planned this out beautifully."

"So, they did. I shall make sure to thank them both." Thranduil smiled down at Feren's wife. "So, what do you think of these tiny ones?"

"Oh, My Lord, they are so wonderful and sweet! I can see why my husband fell in love with them." She looked down at Dafina and rubbed their noses together, making the toddler giggle.

"You have my earnest hopes Lady Hilda will allow you to have them. I am confident she will find no disappointment with the two of you."

"Thank you, My Lord." The couple continued to cuddle the girls, so he located Bain and Tilda, and made to leave. They found Sigrid, who was sitting with the new baby's temporary wet-nurse, as he was finishing a feeding.

"Hi, Ada." She whispered, as the boy was asleep already.

The nursing mother made to rise and curtsy, but he waved her back down. "Please, sit, My Lady. You have my gratitude for your help in this matter." He took her hand and kissed it. "You honor us with your kindness." She smiled up at him shyly, and blushed.

Sigrid thanked the mother, and after checking the baby's bottom, bundled him back up and came to her brother and her sister, who looked at him in amazement.

"He's so little!" Tilda whispered. "Look at his teensy-weensy fingernails!"

"You were just as little when you were born." Sigrid grinned.

"I was?" Tilda squealed. After her sister shushed her, she whispered, "Sorry. I was really that little?"

"You were smaller, actually. You were three weeks early, and needed to be held a lot."

"Wow... Does Auntie Hil know that?" Tilda's eyes were wide.

Thranduil stooped to tell her. "I have been told Auntie Hil was present at all your births."

"Wow," the little girl breathed. "She saw me get borned?"

Sigrid nodded. "Aye, she did."

"I wonder what his name will be. Look at all his hair!" Bain marveled.

After a few moments, the Elvenking reached his arms out. "I believe I shall carry him back, if you do not mind, Sigrid. I would like a chance to make his acquaintance. Come children, let us take this young man to the Royal Wing, and see if your father is awake, yet."

Many of other Elves stopped what they were doing and smiled, as their Warrior-King led Bard's children through the halls and walkways of the Palace with the tiny bundle in his arms. Many recalled their King from the days when Prince Legolas was a baby, and loved to parade his son around to show him off. They had mourned with him and for him during those long years after their beloved Queen was killed. Now, the Woodland Elves rejoiced the renewed joy on Thranduil's face, and were glad of it. He was whole again and happy, and the atmosphere of the entire Palace was lighter.

After checking in with Hannah, who was still sitting by the sleeping Rhian, he whispered he was taking the babe to the children's apartment, and she nodded. He peeked in on Daeron, who was fast asleep, still pale. After asking Sigrid to pick up some extra clouts, they were off to the Royal Wing.

When they were at the entrance of the children's apartment, he sent them inside, and took a quick peek inside his chambers. Bard was still napping, his mouth opened slightly.

Thranduil settled himself on the couch with the children and smiled at the bundle in his arms, and remembered when Legolas was first born, and he marveled at both the differences and the similarities between the two races. One thing was for certain; every newborn was enchanting.

"Thrandool? What was Legolas' Mam like?" Tilda asked, innocently.

"Tilda!" Sigrid hissed at her sister. "Don't be rude!"

Thranduil calmed her. "Peace, Sigrid. It is all right." To the youngest, who was looking upset with herself, he said. "Your sister reprimands you because speaking of my late wife sometimes makes me sad, but that is not your fault, and it is not something you should be concerned about."

He gave Tilda a reassuring smile. "I will tell you her name was Mirelen, and she had long, wavy dark hair and eyes. She was very beautiful, and someday, I will tell you more about her. I have been told your own mother was beautiful, too."

"Aye, she was." Tilda said. "Da always says so."

"I think that is all we shall say on the subject for now. This is a good day, and we do not want to be sad. Do you understand?" He reached out his arm for Tilda, and motioned for her to come and sit beside him.

"But you and Da are married now, so you don't have to be sad anymore." She looked up at him. "Right?"

"Right." Thranduil tilted his head and smiled at her. "Your father makes me happy, just as you children do, and Tauriel. It makes things better, does it not?"

He checked the infant's diaper. "Sigrid, would you please hand me a clout? Thank you." He laid the baby down on the couch beside him, and began to change him.

Sigrid gasped, "You know how to change nappies?"

The Elvenking laughed. "Just because Legolas was born a long time ago, does not mean I have forgotten how to take care of a baby."

"But I thought… I mean you're a King! Didn't you have people do that for you?"

"When Legolas was born, many tried to convince my wife to let others care for him, but she refused and she insisted I become involved, as well. It was a wise policy, despite the scandalized attitude of some of my people, especially the nobles. But Mirelen insisted a King who does not hesitate to care for his own children, will not hesitate to care for those in his Kingdom. It gave them assurance of my dedication to them."

"I think that makes a lot of sense," Sigrid nodded. "In Laketown, the rich folks would pass on their babies to nannies and such, and Auntie Hil said never trust anyone who couldn't be bothered to take care of their children."

"Why?" Bain asked.

"She always said, 'Don't listen to their words, listen to their actions.' I wouldn't trust them either. It's one thing when a Mam or Da needs help, like Auntie Hil and Uncle Percy took care of us when he would go on the river, but when he was home, he paid attention to us."

"Your Da is a smart Man," Thranduil told her. "And so is Percy and Hilda. I think my people will behave in such ways with the orphans they adopt."

"They will, or Auntie Hil won't let them have them," Sigrid's eyebrow quirked.

"Of that I have no doubt."

He finished up with the infant, and quickly bundled him up again. "Now, _Tithen Pen_ , I believe you would like a turn to hold this little one?" Eagerly she nodded, with her gap-toothed smile. He had her sit back on the lounger, and Sigrid quickly brought a pillow from her bed to put on her lap, then carefully settled the sleeping little boy into her arms.

Bard came into the apartment a short time later, and Thranduil leaned his head back and smiled proudly at his husband. "Did you have a good nap?"

Bard kissed the top of his head. "Aye. I see you Sea Monsters have been busy; have you corrupted this poor child yet?"

"Absolutely," Sigrid deadpanned, "We've been teaching him all your favorite swear words."

"I'll have you know; I have no favorite swear words. I treat all my cuss words equally."

This invoked a variety of reactions: Bain put his hand over his mouth and snickered, Sigrid pretended to be shocked, and Thranduil laughed outright.

Tilda, still holding the baby, rolled her eyes at her silly family.

.

.

 **ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:**

 _losta-luith_ – sleeping spell

 _hînnith_ – little girls

 _Iellig_ – My daughter

 _Tithen Pen_ – Little One

.

 **NOTES:**

Yes, Tilda still has missing teeth, and has a cute lisp, but forgive me for not writing it all the time.

"Clout" is an ancient word, meaning "piece of cloth."


	31. Chapter 31 CHARACTER LIST

5

 **Chapter Thirty-Two**

 **Character List**

 **Alis** – Orphan from Dale; Adopted by Feren and Glélindë at the age of five.

 **Alun** – father of Rhys, son of Ina, nephew of the late Iola. Widower. Used to work the accounts for the Master of Laketown.

 **Bain** – Prince of Dale. 13 years old. Very interested in weapons and military.

 **Bard** – King of Dale; archer, former Bargeman. 43 years old. Husband of King Thranduil. Former husband of the late Mattie of Laketown. Gets sick at the sight of blood.

 **Ben** \- See "Old Ben"

 **Beorn** – Skin Changer; friend of Gandalf and Radagast. Lives in Southern Mirkwood.

 **Bilbo** – Hobbit. One of the Original Company. Had feelings for Thorin.

 **Bofur** – Dwarf. One of the Original Company of Thorin Oakenshield. Friend of Princess Tilda and Tauriel.

 **Bronwyn** – Head of Schools in Dale.

 **Daeron** – Elven Guardian and a uniquely-gifted Healer who specializes in mid-wifery. Recently married Rhian and became Darryn's father.

 **Dafina** – 6-year-old orphan from Dale; Adopted by Feren and Glélindë.

 **Dáin** – King Under the Mountain. Husband of Queen Dilna.

 **Darryn** – Rhian's baby boy, named after Daeron, who saved their lives at his birth. 2 1/2 years old.

 **Dilna** – Dwarf. King Dáin's wife - Queen Under the Mountain.

 **Dwalin** – Dwarf. Trained Kili and Fili. Becomes a friend to Feren. Will help train Bain.

 **Elénaril** – Elven Healer; wife of Ermon, the Chief Healer of the Woodland Realm. Mother of triplets: daughters Calapîa, Almarë and son Nórimo.

 **Elion** \- Guardian of the Woodland Realm, currently serving in Lothlórien as Daeron's 2nd-in-Command. Fell in love with Airen, Warden of Lothlórien and engaged to be married in T.A. 2944

 **Emëldir** \- Head of Thranduil's Council in the Woodland Realm, authorized to rule in Thranduil's stead, should anything happen.

 **Enid** \- Widow of Dale, about 60 years of age. Mother-in-Law to the Baker in Dale. Shared a tent with Rhian and Gladys, in the refugee camp after the Battle.

 **Ermon** \- Chief Healer of the Woodland Realm. Husband of Elénaril. Born in Doriath - grew up with Galion and Oropher. Was present at Thranduil's birth. Father of triplets: daughters Calapîa, Almarë and son Nórimo.

 **Ethan** – Oldest son of Seren and Llewelyn. Brother to Liam and Liliwen.

 **Farien** – Tauriel's female cat.

 **Feren** – Elf. Commander of all branches of the Elven military. Husband of Glélindë. Adoptive father of Alis and Dafina. Currently living in Dale with wife and children.

 **Fînlossen** \- "Snowy Mane." Thranduil's favorite white stallion that he gifted to Bard.

 **Floyd** – Old Ben's big orange male cat.

 **Galion** – Elf. Thranduil's Chief Aide and Steward. Father figure to Tauriel and Legolas. best friend to Hilda and Percy.

 **Gandalf/Mithrandir** – Wizard; helps Bard and Thranduil get together.

 **Garon the Founder** – First King of Dale. Established his Kingdom in the year 2432 T.A.

 **Garth** – Rhian's late husband; died when Smaug attacked Laketown. Was a drunkard and abusive.

 **Girion** – 15th King of Dale, and Bards 5th Great-Grandfather, killed by Smaug in the year 2770 T.A.

 **Gladys** \- widow of Dale, about 59 years old. Friend of Enid works as a seamstress with Glélindë. Shared a tent with Rhian and Enid after the Battle.

 **Glélindë** – Elf. Commander Feren's wife; adoptive mother of Alis and Dafina. Worked in the Tailor's Guild of the Woodland Realm. Currently living in Dale with husband and children.

 **Gruffudd** – Grandfather of Alis and Dafina. Missing one leg below the knee from BOTFA.

 **Haldir** \- Marchwarden of Lothorien and Daeron's commanding officer for the year. Eldest son of Halfar, former Marchwarden, and his wife, Naimi.

 **Hannah** – Midwife from Dale; delivered Rhian's baby. Widow of Martyn, with three grown children. Her son Jon and daughter-in-law Darla live in Dale with their two children. Recently remarried to Ben, City Planner of Dale.

 **Hilda** – Percy's wife. Mother figure to the Bard's children. Seneschal of Dale. In charge of the Castle and welfare of Dale's widows, poor and needy.

 **Idril** – Elf. Mother of Daeron; wife of Captain Adamar. In charge of the kitchens at Thranduil's Palace.

 **Ivran** \- Elf, and personal guard to Thranduil, married to Cwën, former Warden of the Woodland Realm.

 **Legolas** – Elven Prince of the Woodland Realm. Born T.A. 1942; 1001 years old. Was 11 years old when Mírelen was killed. Currently traveling with the Dúnedain.

 **Liam** – Second son of Seren and Llewelyn. Brother to Ethan and Liliwen.

 **Liliwen** – Infant daughter of Seren and Llewelyn. Sister to older brothers Ethan and Liam. Born in the Woodland Realm during the Long Winter.

 **Llewelyn** – Husband of Seren. Works in Construction with Old Ben. Father of sons Ethan and Liam, and daughter Liliwen. Thrilled that baby Liliwen as red hair like him.

 **Mablung** \- Captain of the Elves and Feren's Second-in-Command in Dale.

 **Mattie** – (Matilda) Bard's late wife, died at Tilda's birth. Came from Dorwinian. Former teacher.

 **Mírelen** – Thranduil's late wife, killed by Orcs. Killed in the T.A. 1953

 **Naurmôr** – "Black Fire" Thranduil's black stallion.

 **Neldor** – Elf. Tauriel's birth father. Killed by Orcs when their village was attacked and burnt down.

 **Nuriel** \- Elf from the Woodland Realm who served as a Caretaker for both Legolas and Tauriel in their childhood.

 **Oin** – Dwarven Healer. Part of the Original Company.

 **Old Ben** – City Planner of New Dale. Rescued Rhian when Dragon came to Dale. Widowed husband of Cristyn. Adopted Rhian and her son, Darryn; recently remarried Hannah the midwife.

 **Oropher** \- Late father of King Thranduil. Killed during the Battle of Dagorlad in the War of the Last Alliance.

 **Orophin** \- Brother of Haldir and Rumil, Wardens of Lothlorien. Middle son of Halfar, former Marchwarden, and his wife, Naimi.

 **Percy** – Bard's best friend; husband of Hilda. Steward of Dale. Kept everyone's spirits up during the Long Winter.

 **Radagast** – Wizard; helps the forest. Friend of Beorn.

 **Rhian** – Mother of Darryn, former widow.

 **Rhys** – 14-year-old son of Alun, grandson of Ina. Bain's best friend; stayed with Royal Family in Thranduil's Palace during the Long Winter.

 **Rúmil** \- Warden of Lothlórien, who spent a year in the Woodland Realm/Dale. Brother to Haldir and Orophin; youngest son of Halfar, former Marchwarden, and his wife, Naimi.

 **Ruvyn** \- Elf. Guard to Thranduil, and friends with Tilda.

 **Sandastan** \- Turamarth's dun-colored horse. His name is a type of military shield formation.

 **Seren** – Wife of Llewelyn of Dale. Mother of sons Ethan and Liam, and daughter Liliwen. Gave birth to her youngest in Thranduil's Palace.

 **Sigrid** – Princess of Dale; 16 years old. Daughter of Bard and Mattie. Stepdaughter of Thranduil. Wants to be a Healer.

 **Solana** – Tauriel's mother. Killed by Orcs when Tauriel was very small.

 **Tauriel** – Elf. Thranduil's foster-daughter. Bard's stepdaughter. Born in the year 2324. 617 years old.

 **Thangon** – "Shield Wall" Bard's humongous dog, given to him by Thranduil. Goofy, but will protect the Royal Family with his life.

 **Thranduil** – Elvenking of Mirkwood. 3,849 Years old. Born in born in S.A. year 2537. Husband of Bard, King of Dale. Step-father of Sigrid, Bain and Tilda. Former husband of the late Queen Mírelen.

 **Tilda** – 9-year-old Princess of Dale; Daughter of Bard and Mattie. Stepdaughter of Thranduil. Seven years old. Suffered severe illness over the Long Winter and is still delicate; must not overexert herself – her heart is still a bit weak.

 **Tîrevan the Archer** – Goran the Founder's Great-Grandson, and 4th King of Dale.

 **Turamarth** – Elf. Daeron's cousin and best friend. Son of Ómar and Indis. Learned to speak Westron over the Long Winter. Lieutenant in the elite Guardian Unit of the Woodland Realm.

 **Vórima** \- The strawberry roan horse that Turamarth bought for Bowen to help pull him out of his depression.


	32. Chapter 32

9

 **Chapter Thirty-Two**

 *****Trigger Warning: Mentions of Domestic Violence*****

 **.**

 **The Palace of the Woodland Realm, 30th of December 2941 T.A.**

Dinner that evening in the Dining Hall was a noisy, merry affair. Bard sat next to Thranduil and his gaze swept over their combined people, optimistic, but watchful. The women laughed and chatted with each other and with the Elves. This was all new and exciting; the loneliness from separation hasn't had a chance to set in, yet. The children were thrilled with all the new things they had seen today, and he saw the oldsters happily ensconced among them.

Things were off to a promising start, and Bard would be leaving it all behind in two days.

As if he was reading his mind, Thranduil reached under the table for his hand and squeezed it, giving him a reassuring smile. "I shall miss you, too, Meleth nîn. But, while you are here, let us enjoy each other, and not dwell on sadness, until we must."

Bard picked up his goblet, "You're right. Let's do that."

He rose to his feet, and Galion motioned everyone to be quiet,

"People of Dale, I thank you for your cooperation in all this, and I especially want to thank the children for being on such good behavior today during this long trip. I hope you take advantage of all the education and training these good Elves are offering you, to help you begin your new lives, once the building in Dale is finished. Throughout these months, your men will be coming to the Palace to visit on a rotating schedule – weather permitting, of course – and I'm sure they'll be pleased and proud to see you all working so hard.

My good people, no longer are we poor dwellers upon the waters of the Lake; the Valar has blessed us with the opportunity to prosper in ways we'd never had under the rule of the Master, and it is our duty to live up to this great gift we have been given. I want to extend my heartfelt thanks to King Thranduil for hosting us, and to all of his people for the help they are willing to give us."

There was a short pause as everyone applauded, then Bard continued: "In my absence, please take all of your cares and concerns to Lady Hilda, who will be in charge of our people. She has worked tirelessly to organize and see to the needs of all of us and we are in her debt." He urged her to stand for another round of applause, and Hilda blushing and bewildered, smiled and nodded her head.

When there were several calls for her to speak, she said, "Thank you kindly. I insist that Galion be given some credit, because he worked just as hard as I did. Stand up, Galion, and let us thank you."

More applause and cheering.

After they sat down, Bard said, "For those of you who have not heard yet, Rhian delivered a healthy baby boy this afternoon, and mother and son are doing fine." The Dining Hall gave a collective gasp of delight, and there was another round of applause.

Then, finally, King Thranduil stood, raised he glass, and said, simply. "Good people of Dale, please allow me to officially welcome you all to the Woodland Realm for the duration of the winter. It is my hope that you enjoy your time here, and find it productive and pleasant, as my people endeavor to assist you in establishing your new lives, in your new country. To Dale and its future!"

At this, everyone stood, drank the toast, and gave the Two Kings, as well as themselves, a final round of applause.

Once dinner was done, and the kids were in bed, the newly married couple retreated at last to the privacy of their bedroom, with the ceiling full of stars.

Thranduil gently led his Bowman to the bed, and began kissing him softly. He sat him down and began to remove his clothing, between caresses. When Bard tried to do the same with his Elf, Thranduil shushed him and said. "Tonight, I want to make love to my husband. Let me take care of you, Meleth nîn. You are mine to cherish and protect."

Like a soothing balm to his spirit, the Elvenking's gentle and sweet touches and kisses, continued, as he undressed them both and coaxed him farther onto the bed, laying on top of him, between his legs. Thranduil kissed his eyes, nose, cheeks, forehead and finally, his mouth, parting Bard's lips and exploring his mouth, as the warmth of his smooth skin melted him into the mattress and blocked out the rest of the world, until their universe was just the two of them.

"I love you so much, Thranduil," he whispered, as the Elf nuzzled and covered his neck in wet kisses. "I wish you knew how much."

"Oh, but I do, Bard." The Elf smiled down at him, rubbing their noses together. "My heart and yours are one, and I feel your love every minute of the day. Just as you feel mine."

A curtain of icy blonde hair surrounded them, as beautiful grey eyes his, as Thranduil caressed his face. He kissed him again, and Bard wrapped his arms around him, stroking his back, then his hips, holding them close to him, as they moved against each other.

Bard closed his eyes and hummed with pleasure as kisses trailed down his throat and on one of his nipples, as the other one was being teased. He ran the silky blonde hair through his fingers and stroked the back of the Elf's head, before rubbed the tips of Thranduil's pointed ears between his fingers, which elicited beautiful, baritone moans of pleasure.

He wanted to dive into this and never come up for air again, wanting his world to be just this, always. It would never, _ever_ be enough, this intense, glorious coupling with his beautiful, ethereal husband. Each time with him was a miracle, and would forever want more. Bard cried out, incoherent, as he was overcome. Thranduil's wordless moans only drove him deeper. When Thranduil bit his nipple, he dug his fingers into Elven flesh as he slammed down on him, over and over, until they both screamed as he came.

Here came the sun and the stars that always greeted him in his ecstasy, and just when it couldn't get any better, Thranduil came inside of him, and the fireworks behind his eyes began all over again. He shouted out the Elf's name, over and over, sobbing it, drowning in it; clasping him and holding on for dear life as he rode him right over the cliff and became lost in their long, long fall.

After they calmed, finally, they stayed in this position for a long time. They held each other so tight, and said nothing, afraid to break the spell between them, and allow the world back in.

.

 **31st of December 2941 T.A.**

Breakfast was eaten in the King's chambers, with the children, Hilda and Galion, in attendance. Bard watched his Elf, and enjoyed the pleasure on Thranduil's face. The dining area's table was rectangular, made of light, polished oak, with eight comfortable chairs. Bard sat at one end, the Elvenking on the other, and the three children and Hilda divided themselves along the sides.

As he listened to everyone's plans for the day, Bard sat his forearms on the table and watched his husband's eyes dance with happiness. Even Galion, who was serving, was enjoying this. He had refused Bard's invitation to sit and eat with them, assuring the Bowman he much preferred to see to everyone else's breakfast, first.

"My Lord, I thank you," the Aide assured him with a smile. "I have had this morning routine for thousands of years, and I enjoy the work; please do not worry about me."

Back in Laketown, sitting down with his children for meals were among his favorite memories. Many times, they would eat at Hilda and Percy's house, and it was a real family affair. The conversation was natural, oftentimes funny, and always loving. Bard was particularly grateful that Hilda insisted the children keep good table manners, just as Mattie had.

They were getting the hang of more formal dining, now that their situation has changed, thanks to Galion and Thranduil. Before the funeral at Erebor, he sat Bard, Percy and Hilda down taught them the etiquette of banquet dining, with different forks, spoons, glasses, etc. Thank heavens the Dwarves weren't terribly fancy; their table manners were scandalous, at times, but these were still good things to learn.

"I want to spend some time with all you kids today, then you can have the Elves all to yourself." He gave them a bittersweet smile.

"Me too, Da." Sigrid said. "But first I want to ask Hannah how Rhian and the baby are, then I'll unpack. I never had a chance when we first got here."

"You're right, and no mistake. You all just took off! By the time my wagon came in the doors, you were gone!" Bain said.

Thranduil chuckled. "Yes, it was a bit exciting. I am glad the child waited until after we arrived. That was quite an experience for you, Sigrid."

"Well, I was pretty scared. For her, but for myself, too. I wasn't sure what to do, but Hannah kept explaining things, and I didn't mind so much."

"You weren't upset?" Tilda asked her. "I mean, I've heard it can be messy. Did your stomach hurt like the way Da gets?"

Sigrid shook her head. "Not a bit. Once I knew things to do to help, that's all I cared about. It wasn't much, I mean, wetting her lips, sponging her face off, and talking to her. But, no, I didn't feel sick to my stomach."

"Ladies yell a lot, when they have babies." Tilda said. "Anna told me that her Mam made a lot of noise when her baby sister was born. She didn't like it. I wouldn't either."

Hilda answered, "They do, but Mams don't remember too much about it once the baby is here."

Tilda was still curious. "But, didn't that scare you? I'd be scared."

"That didn't bother me. I just tried to think on what I had to do to make things better. When I was in Dale, Elénaril kept telling me to focus on the treatment, and what I needed to do. I'm not supposed to let myself feel too much, because then, I'd be a bawling mess, and the patient wouldn't get any help. Master Óin always says: 'Never bleed for the patient.'"

"That makes a lot of sense." Bard told his daughter. "Have you been able to do that, so far?"

"It's easier than I thought it would be. Some people can't do it. I can," she shrugged, "which is why I should be a Healer. Elénaril said I was a natural."

Thranduil patted her hand, "If she said this to you, _Iellig_ , that is encouraging. She does not give compliments unless they are truly merited."

Sigrid grinned, "Thank you Ada!"

"You are most welcome," The Elvenking smiled down her. "I hope you continue with your studies here. In fact, children, your father and I need to speak about your schooling while you are here."

Bain groaned and rolled his eyes.

Tilda said, "We had classes in the Children's tent, so I'm used to it now. I like it. Miss Bronwyn separated us, so the older kids will learn different things."

"How many of the children know how to read and write?" Thranduil asked, concerned.

"Not many." Bain answered. "If somebody's Mam or Da knew how, they would learn, but…"

Thranduil's brows drew together. "There were no schools in Laketown?"

Bard shook his head. "The Master kept finding excuses to close them, and it put Bronwyn and Mattie out of work. Mattie used to be a teacher, and she brought a lot of books with her from her Da's house. I knew enough reading and maths to weigh and sell the fish, but she helped me after we were married, then she taught Hilda and Percy, our children, and some of their friends. When Tilda was born, Hilda kept up with their lessons."

"Was Mam from in Laketown?" Tilda asked.

"No, Little Bean, she came from Dorwinian. Her Da, your Grandad Bain, and Grandad Brand became good friends when your Mam and I met."

"They were at that." Hilda reminisced. "I wish you kids could've known them; those two were hilarious together!"

"Thrandool said you saw all of us get borned, Auntie Hil." Tilda was amazed. "You must be really old!"

Thranduil quickly grabbed his teacup, to drink, Galion suddenly grappled with a coughing fit, and Bard bit down, hard on the inside of his cheek.

"Oh, you think so, Beanie?" Hilda asked her, eyebrows raised.

"Well... I mean, Da is old. And if you knew my Grandads, and you knew my Da when he was young, then you're really really old!" Tilda reasoned. "How old are you?"

"Just you don't worry about that. I'm as old as my hair, and a bit older than my teeth."

Tilda sat for a moment, trying to work that one out. "I don't know what that means."

"Don't worry, love. when you get really, _really_ old, like me, you will."

Tilda leaned into the woman. "I love you, no matter how old you are. And Uncle Percy, too."

"Well, that's a relief." She chuckled, and put her arm around her. "I love you, too." She kissed the little one's cheek. "Now, I'm off, Little Bean. Got a lot to do."

She turned to the others. "You kids stay here and listen to your Da about your schooling. Don't you give me that look, Bain! You're gonna do it and no arguing." She got up, kissed the children, Bard, Thranduil, and even Galion, and left for the day.

Thranduil gestured toward his Aide. "Galion will oversee your education, and, at times, be your instructor. You will join the rest of the children for part of the day, then have individual lessons according to your age and ability. Bain, you are going to be continuing with sword training with Daeron. He will also begin lessons in archery, in our indoor arena. When spring comes, you will continue with your father."

"Yes!" Bain raised his fists in the air.

Bard chimed in, "It sounds good to me, but if you don't work hard at your other subjects, you won't be allowed to practice. That's the rule; I won't have you slacking."

Bain's face fell. "All right, I promise."

"It's Thranduil and Galion you need to promise, too."

Bain turned to Thranduil and Galion. "I promise."

Thranduil continued. "Of course, Sigrid, you will continue with the Healers for part of your day, as you did in Dale. Hannah and the Healer from Dale need to set up with the Elves, so you could be help them coordinate their facility and services. Tilda, you will be my liaison, for the children."

"What's that?"

" _Liaison_ means one who listens, then takes the message to the other party, to solve problems. So, you will be listening to the children, and telling Lady Hilda and myself if the children are happy. We have discussed this, but this is your official title: Lady Tilda, the King's Liaison. Do you like it?"

She tried to say the word several times. It was hard with her missing front teeth. "Okay. But I'll just call myself, a 'Listener.'"

Bard smiled at her. "I like that, too."

Sigrid's brows furrowed. "Ada, can I ask you something?"

"Anything, Iellig. What is it?"

"What will happen with Rhian, when she has to leave the Healing Halls? Will she go to the Visitor's Wing?"

"I would think so, but that would be for Lady Hilda to decide. She oversees such things. Why do you ask?"

Sigrid brow furrowed. "I'm just a little worried about her, that's all."

Bard considered his oldest daughter for a moment, then said, "Is everyone finished with their food? All right, Bain, you clear the table for Galion, and Tilda, you wipe off the table and chairs, all right?"

"But, Da! We just got here!" Bain protested.

"My Lord, it is not necessary—"

Bard leveled his son with a stern stare. "You children will help Galion after the meals, is that clear? You will help, with no complaints, and you _will_ behave."

"Yes, Da," they said.

"And that goes especially for you, _Ada_. Don't you spoil them, or you know what Hilda will do to you. The same for you, too, Galion."

He patted Sigrid lightly on the shoulder, "Darling, Thranduil and I need to go to the infirmary and check on Rhian and Daeron. You should probably come, too."

They got up, "I'll see you kids later," he kissed Tilda, and ruffled Bain's hair. After Thranduil did the same, they headed toward the entrance to the apartment.

Tilda whispered, "Galion, what will Hilda do to Thranduil?"

"I am sure it is not pleasant."

Bain agreed. "You got that right. You do NOT want her mad at you!"

.

As the two Kings and Sigrid walked through the halls, Bard asked his daughter. "All right, what's going on with Rhian?"

"That's just it. I'm new at this, and I'm the first one to admit it. But something tells me…" she waved her hand. "Never mind. I'm just being silly."

"No, Iellig, I do not think you are silly. If your instinct is telling you something, you probably should heed it. Please tell us what you are thinking, Sigrid." Thranduil asked.

The girl shrugged. "When we were in the wagon, she just didn't seem like she cared about what was going on. She didn't care about anything. I hope the baby will help, but what if it doesn't?"

Thranduil ran his hand over his jaw. "Thank you, _Iellig_. You are right to talk to us about this. Rhian is still in a healing sleep, I believe, but we will know more, when we get to the Healing Halls."

"I'm proud of you, my girl, for what you did yesterday." Bard put his arm around her shoulder and kissed her hair. "I'm not going to tell you to stop being concerned about others, Sigrid," Bard stopped and faced her fully. "I don't expect that. Just make sure to always tell someone who has been trained to deal with these things, all right? You can feel compassion for her, and that's admirable, but she's not your responsibility. She's got serious problems, and they must be handled by the ones who are trained to do it."

"I understand what you're saying, Da. It would easy to get caught up in the drama of it, but I could make it worse. But I still want to do _something_ , Da."

"Of course, you do, darling. For things like this, though, be sure and check in with Hannah or the Healer if you see or hear anything out of the ordinary, promise?" When she nodded yes, he smiled. "That's my girl."

The three of them walked to the entrance to the Healing Hall, and went in. The last room on the left was where Rhian was still sleeping, peacefully, with Elénaril at her side.

"How is she?" Bard asked her. "Where is the child?"

"Hannah has taken the infant to the wet nurse for feeding, My Lord." The Elven healer sighed; her face was pinched with fatigue. "She has a fever, and we have watched her closely. I am concerned, My Lord. A mother's body will always protect and nourish the child first, even among Elves. If the mother does not have much strength, the child will take it, and she will have little left for herself." Elénaril turned to Thranduil. "I am glad you are here, Sire. I had planned to send for you."

Thranduil asked. "Why is that?"

"Her body… does not want to get well. She has been in such a weakened and depressed state; I fear that her body may not heal itself quickly enough. I do not know if this is the cause of her fever, or if there is some material that has not left her at the birth. This can happen with human females. In the world of Men, she would grow sicker, and die a painful death, from the fever and toxicity. This is normally Daeron's purview, but he is incapacitated, and I do not think we can wait."

"You believe _I_ could heal these wounds?"

Elénaril nodded sheepishly. "She requires more than I can give her at this time, My Lord. I have used much of my strength to see to the patients from Dale, and I fear I cannot help her."

Thranduil's eyes met his.

"She's suffered enough." Bard sighed. "Would you try?"

"Of course." He moved past Sigrid and Bard and stepped over to the other side of the bed.

"Sigrid," Elénaril turned to the girl. "Hannah stayed here with her and the babe all night and she's exhausted. Please go the baby from the wet-nurse, then send Hannah to rest – no arguments. When you leave, close the door behind you, and tell the others we are not to be disturbed for _any_ reason."

"Yes, Ma'am. Good luck, _Ada."_ Sigrid nodded and left, then the Healer turned to Bard.

"Sigrid tells me you have a sensitivity to these matters. If you become uncomfortable, you must step out quickly and quietly, My Lord."

Bard nodded. "It's the sight of blood that I have a tough time with, but you have my word I'll do as you say, regardless."

"Thank you. Shall we begin? Lord Bard, we need you to become as calm and peaceful as you can." Elénaril closed her eyes, and began to concentrate.

Thranduil closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. Through their bond, Bard sensed how his husband center himself, and he followed the example. Eyes still closed, Thranduil began to quietly sing, as he placed his hands on Rhian's belly. The language was Elvish, but it was different from Sindarin. Light began to shine in him, and around him, just as it shone when Bard's headache was taken away.

But this was different. The light wasn't brighter, but power flowed through his husband. He was fascinated as the Elvenking's expression become intense, as he continued to sing and chant. All his attention was riveted on Thranduil, and he couldn't break away; something was happening inside of him, too…

Bard was compelled to close his eyes, too. He breathed in deeply, allowing the sensations to flood him. _I'm here, love. Let me help..._ He sent these thoughts to Thranduil, repeating the phrase in his mind over and over, sending his Elf strength.

Bard could "see" where his husband was probing. There was Rhian's womb, swollen and misshapen from the birth, and Thranduil took extreme care, as he searched for traces of the afterbirth. There. It was a tiny piece still there, near the top, but enough to cause the surrounding tissue to become angry and pus was beginning to develop around it. Thranduil somehow pulled it free, and worked it down and out of her.

 _Thank the Valar…_ Bard thought, eyes still closed.

Now that Rhian was restored, they were finished. Thranduil song was coming to an end, and Bard began to open his eyes...

Until Thranduil paused.


	33. Chapter 33

13

 **Chapter Thirty-Four**

 **The Woodland Realm, 30th of December, 2941 T.A.**

The Elvenking saw and felt the light inside him. With his hands, he used the light to see inside the girl. Bard was there with him, combining their strength, as Thranduil carefully explored, looking for anything amiss. He didn't know how a human female should be, but that didn't matter. Rhian's body knew, and she would show him what was amiss, so he stilled his mind and listened carefully. He was speaking with the girl's body, and it was guiding him to where he needed to be. Bard was still with him, as he moved his hands over her.

 _Here. It hurts here..._ she told him. He looked, and there it was, the source of fever. He gently, and painstakingly removed it from the wall of her womb, and freed it from her body. Then he returned to the place where the purulent wound was and sang to it, knitting the flesh, until it looked pink and healthy, instead of angry, and inflamed. During all this, he had felt Bard's silent comfort and support, throughout. Thranduil slowed his song, and stopped, but –

 _Please…_ His _fëa_ heard the wordless cries. _Please, help me... It hurts…_

The Elvenking stood up straight and opened his eyes.

"Thranduil, what's wrong?" Bard looked at him.

The Healer looked at them both with concern.

"My Lord? Were you able to help her?" Elénaril asked.

Thranduil's brow furrowed, "Yes. The infected piece has left her, and she should heal normally."

Then the Healer searched his face, "You are still concerned."

"There is something else. Her body cries out, but not from where she carried her child."

Elénaril sighed, disappointed in herself. "Forgive me, My King. I have been much occupied, since we arrived with my other patients, and we only believed her problems were due to the pregnancy. This is the first time I have been able to truly examine her fully, as she shrank from almost every touch. I only thought it was the fever that needed to be addressed, and that was a lazy assumption. I am sorry."

"Do not be. You are thorough, and I am confident you would have found the problem, once the danger had passed. Have you rested since we arrived?"

"No, My Lord." Elénaril looked extremely tired. "I have been here since we came, and one patient had a difficult night. I've extended Daeron's healing sleep until tomorrow, but I believe he will be fine."

Thranduil turned to his husband and asked him, "How do you feel, Bard?" He searched the Bowman's face for signs of fatigue, and found little.

Bard answered him. "Fine. Why?"

"I need to search further to find the cause of her pain. Elénaril is too fatigued to help. If we can please concentrate as we did before, I will attempt to help her, with your help."

"Absolutely, Thranduil; whatever you need."

The Elvenking turned to the Healer, "When we are finished, you are to put your Assistant in charge, and get some sleep yourself, is that clear?"

Elénaril nodded. "Yes, Sire."

Once again, Thranduil centered himself with cleansing breaths, as the room became quiet. The song began again, as Thranduil lightly ran his hands over her, eyes closed. He pulled deeper into his _fëa_ , as he searched. He ran his fingers over her skull and her neck, and heard nothing, but her left shoulder cried out to him when he touched it.

There was angry red inflammation, where the bone went into the socket. A ligament had been torn. He rested his hands there and sent the healing light, restoring the damaged tissue. Bard joined him, adding to his efforts, making the process easier.

When that was done, Thranduil paused, listening carefully. Was that it?

No. There was more.

Her other arm, and her legs were carefully checked, but there was nothing. Rhian's abdominal organs were good, so he moved his hands up to her ribcage…

 _Here... It hurts here… Please…_ Thranduil heard and felt Bard's gasp, when he saw it, too.

Three of Rhian's ribs had been broken, on her left side. The uppermost fracture was displaced and had not healed properly; one jagged edge sitting down, close to her lung. They would have to re-break it to set it right, and it had to be done carefully, or he would puncture her lung and possibly kill her.

He felt Bard's consternation at the wound. _Concentrate,_ _Meleth nîn!"_ he called to his husband.

 _I need you to you remain calm and peaceful and strong, for me!"_

Thranduil took a few cleansing breaths, and he felt Bard doing this as well. _That is good, Meleth nîn. We are ready…_ Without opening his eyes, he whispered out loud, "Put your hands atop mine, Bard."

Now, he physically could feel him. _Deep breath, in and out… O Valar… O Queen of the Stars, guide my hands, guide my fëa; let me do this safely!_ With Bard's help, broke the rib again, and he could see, hear, and feel the loud crack. He paused to restore his concentration. This was going to be complicated, as each piece had to be held together precisely and completely immobile, as the bone joined together. One edge had to be lifted, while the other lowered into place. _In and out… Concentrate…_

 _Meleth nîn…_ He appealed to his husband, using feelings, not words.

 _I am here…_ Was his answer, as his presence flowed through the Elf.

Summoning as much inside him as he could, he began his song in a louder, firmer voice as together, they carefully forced the bones into place and held them. Once set, Thranduil sent healing light to the bones to become one again. It was a long, arduous process. Flesh is a challenge to heal, and it is soft and pliable. Bones are dense, and require immense energy and patience, to knit back together. If he let the bones shift, even a little, Rhian could be worse off than when they started.

He began to tire. He lost his concentration for a second or two, as he felt pain in his face; his glamour had started to fall. Bard felt it, and managed to send him even more, to keep it up. Thranduil's hands shook, but he could not let the bones move. Bard squeezed his hands carefully, sending comfort to him.

 _Take as much as you need, love. We can do this... I am here..._ They continued on together, holding the bone perfectly still, as the two pieces became one again.

Finally, _finally_ , it was done, and healed perfectly. Thranduil listened, cautiously, for a few moments, but Rhian's body no longer cried out. Slowly, he came back to himself and opened his eyes. Bard was doing the same, with fatigue on his face, but also wonder.

Elénaril set a chair behind Thranduil. "Please sit, My King." She quickly grabbed his arm and helped him down. "Lord Bard, there is a chair behind you, as well. Sit. Right now."

After they were seated, she poured them both a glass of water, which they took and drank gratefully. Then Thranduil gazed at his husband, over the sleeping form of their patient. "Are you all right?" The Elvenking asked, worried.

Bard looked spent, elbows in his knees, with his face in his one hand, clutching his water glass with the other. "I will be, love. Just give me a minute or two..."

The Healer disagreed. "I am afraid you will need more than that, My Lord. I am ordering you both back to your chambers immediately and you will rest, for six hours, at least. I would like to see you both later this day," Elénaril ordered. "Especially you, King Bard."

Thranduil helped Bard get up, "And I, order the same for you, Elénaril. Thank you for your dedication and attention to the people of Dale, but you will rest now; that is an order."

Bard seconded the compliment. "Thank you."

The Healer nodded, modestly, and went to arrange for her rest.

Wearily, they went into their bedchamber, removed their clothing, and crawled into the bed. "Thank you for your help, _Meleth nîn_. I could have damaged her further…"

As tired as Bard was, he needed answers. "Thranduil, what in the world happened in that room? How was I able to do that?"

"I cannot say. I do not understand it myself," he sighed. "I am grateful that you followed your instinct. Perhaps Mithrandir could explain? When we get up, we must ask him."

"Are he and Bilbo still here?" Bard pulled up the blankets, as he began to settle himself.

"They are. They will be staying for another week or so. Beorn invited them to winter with him, before crossing the Misty Mountains in the spring."

Crawling over into the crook of Thranduil's arm, he laid his head on the Elvenking's shoulder. "I haven't had much chance to talk to Beorn," he said in a soft, weary voice. "He seems a good sort."

"He is." Thranduil yawned. "He loves the living things in our forest, and he is fiercely protective of them."

Bard snickered, as he nuzzled the crook of Thranduil's neck. "I wouldn't want _him_ mad at me, though. His bear is even more terrifying than Hilda when she gets angry."

Eyes closed, Thranduil smiled. "No one is as frightening as Lady Hilda, when she gets angry."

"I stand corrected." Bard mumbled, as he cuddled into him a little more, and soon, they were deeply asleep.

It was mid-afternoon, before Thranduil awoke, to see the stars sparkle on the ceiling of his chambers. Bard had rolled over and was on his side, facing away from him, still fast asleep, softly snoring, which the Elvenking thought was adorable. He leaned down to kiss a freckle on his shoulder, got out of bed, stretched his shoulder.

After using the necessary, he drank some water from the pitcher on the sideboard, then dressed and went out into the corridor.

Tilda and Bain were walking toward their apartments, accompanied by a guard.

"Hello, children!"

"Hi, Thranduil! Is Da awake yet?" Bain asked. "Can we see him?"

"He is still asleep. I am sorry your Da and I were so tired today, but he needed to help me with an important matter. I know you want to spend time with him, so I am going to ask that he stay another day." At the eagerness on the two faces, he cautioned. "I do not know if he can, but I will ask him. If he cannot, you must not be upset."

"I'll try," said Tilda, frowning.

The children went into their apartments, while Thranduil stepped into his study, to check on some things. Galion had organized the work he needed to catch up on into neat piles. It could wait. He wanted to be with his husband, while he was here. Galion was in the adjoining room, at his desk.

"Good afternoon, My Lord. Shall I get you something to eat?"

"Yes, I would appreciate it. Bard is still asleep, but he will want something when he wakes up."

Galion got up, and bowing to him, he exited.

Thranduil went back into his chambers, and checked on Bard, who was just beginning to stir. He sat down on the bed, and kissed him, when the Bowman sat up and stretched, wiping the sleep out of his eyes.

"How do you feel?" Thranduil asked him.

"Better. Still knackered, but I want to be with the children, while I can."

"I agree, Meleth nîn. As to your fatigue, I think you should spend another day recovering, before you try to make such a long trip." He stroked through Bard's black curls, smiling.

"I think I could, but no more than that. Percy's expecting me, and I don't want to leave the city too long. He'll be frantic when I don't show up tomorrow, and think something's happened."

"Feren will go as scheduled, with the supply carts. He can tell Percy of your delay, so he will not worry."

"Can you? Aye, let's do that. If there's any problem with me gone, Feren can help him sort it out, too, and I'll feel better the day after tomorrow." He kissed Thranduil once more, then got up to take care of personal matters and get dressed. "Is there anything to eat?"

"It is coming. Bain and Tilda are back in their rooms. Shall I get them?"

"In a minute. Should I be worried about Sigrid finding out about what happened with Rhian? I honestly don't understand it myself."

I asked Elénaril and the Chief Healers not to say anything to Sigrid about our situation, shortly before we were married. I trust her discretion."

Bard shook his head, and gritted his teeth. "How was that bastard allowed to get away with that? Her father was with her in the camp! Didn't he see all the marks on her, and the pain she was in? How could any parent turn a blind eye like that? No wonder that girl felt alone!"

"I am afraid we will never know the answers to that, Bard. You can only learn from this, and perhaps you can prevent such abuse in your Kingdom."

Bard sighed. "Aye, your right, love."

Galion came in with their food just then, and so did Tilda, carrying Charlotte. Bain had gone to visit some friends, so Tilda enjoyed the attention, sitting between her fathers. She was excited, because Galion was going to take her with him to his study and give her paper and pencils so she can draw pictures, and he had some children's books in Westron for her to read.

After sending her on her way with the Chief Aide, they went to the Healing Halls, once again.

Sigrid was changing the baby on a table in a treatment room, when they came in. "Hi! Just a minute, please." She finished fastening the clout on the baby. The boy was his waving his fists, and kicking his legs, screaming in fury. "He hates being changed," Sigrid grinned.

"So did you, as I recall." Bard told her. As soon as the girl put him on another small blanket, and swaddled him tightly, he began to settle down, although he still fussed some. Bard motioned to take the baby, and she handed him over. "Hello there, Little Man. Have you been giving my girl a hard time?" The infant stopped to listen to the sound of his voice, and looked up at him, wide eyed and blinking, then began to suck on one of his fists.

Thranduil looked over his shoulder, at the child. "He is enchanting."

"All babies are, love, and that's the way it should be." Bard grinned, then he asked his daughter. "Is Rhian awake?"

Sigrid's face lost its smile. "Aye. You need to speak with Elénaril; I'll stay here with him." She cooed to the infant, then sat down on a chair.

They found the Healer, checking on a patient from Dale. She quietly stepped out of the room, and closed the door.

"Did you both rest?" she asked them.

"Yes, did you?" Bard asked. "You looked as exhausted as I felt, Elénaril."

"I did, My Lord, thank you for asking. Now, I am concerned once more, about Rhian."

"What is amiss?" the Elvenking asked.

"My Lord, she refuses to see the infant. She is afraid to become attached, if King Bard should take him away. I tried to reassure her, but she became agitated."

Bard looked at Thranduil with a determined look. "Right. Let's get this settled."

Elénaril said to Bard quietly, "Two things: Firstly, you will be gentle and patient with her, and not upset her, is that clear? Secondly, when you are finished, I will thoroughly examine you. Your condition is unique, and I must be sure your body has not been badly affected by using your fëa to heal the girl."

"Oh, I'll be fine – "

"And we will make sure of that. No arguments." Elénaril informed him.

Bard looked at Thranduil, who said, "She is right Hervenn nîn. As soon as we are finished, we will be examined," and said to Elénaril, "but I do not want Sigrid present, and she is not to know the extent of Bard's participation."

"Yes, Sire. And one more thing," she added. "Rhian still has difficulty being touched; especially by men; so, you will respect that."

The two Kings looked at each other with a combination of fury and sadness, then nodded to the Healer, before she went back to work.

"You know, I wish Garth were still alive. I want to kill that bastard myself, slowly and painfully." Bard's jaw was set. They stopped, while the King of Dale sought to calm himself. Anger was justifiable, but inflicting it upon this young girl would be cruel.

He felt Thranduil's hand on his shoulder, squeezing it in encouragement. "I understand, Meleth nîn. But we must be stronger and better than that animal that was her husband, yes?"

Bard sighed. "That could be our Sigrid lying there, so broken… All these young girls are my responsibility, and I can't allow this. I won't."

The Elvenking sympathized. "When an Elf is raped, it kills the fëa, causing them to fade, did you know that? Perhaps, a part of Rhian has died, as well, or is hidden away so deeply, that it seems so. But she has advantages, Bard. She is human, and she lives, plus she has you as her King. Come, let us help to heal her heart, just as we healed her body." He took Bard by the hand and led him forward.

Again, they made their way into the last room on the left. Rhian's eyes were closed, resting, so Bard quietly sat down in the chair beside the bed, while Thranduil stood behind him. She was a lovely girl, and her long dark hair that had been freshly washed, but she looked lost and unhappy. Her cheeks finally had some color in them, because she could breathe easier, but there were still dark circles under her eyes, and she looked gaunt.

"Rhian, it's time to wake up." Bard said, gently.

The girl's eyes blinked open, and she turned toward them. When she saw the two Kings, she jumped with fright, eyes wide.

Before she had a chance to speak, Bard said gently, "Rhian, please be calm. You are perfectly safe. I promise, no one will hurt you. You're still recovering, but I need to talk with you, all right?"

She didn't say anything; just stared at them, wide-eyed, as she nodded, ever so slightly.

"We need to speak of the night of the fires. I know Daeron told you that you will face no punishment, and that is true, but I must know the truth of what happened. Can you do that, for me? I promise you on my oath as your King, no one will hurt you, but I must know the absolute truth."

She sank back in her pillows a little bit, and nodded again.

"Now, there are some things I'm sure of, and some things I think I can guess. I'm going to ask you some questions, Rhian, and you must answer me honestly, do you understand?" He asked her kindly, but firmly.

"Yes, I will." Her face didn't just look tired, it looked weary and hopeless.

Rhian's eyes were like Tilda's after the battle, blank and lifeless. His throat tightened, and he swallowed, but then continued.

"Now, let's start with what I know. The night the Dragon came, you were pregnant, and the one who helped you was Old Ben. He has said that he was the only one in the boat when he came to you. Am I right, so far?"

She nodded yes, her face and eyes still blank still shut down.

"No one else?" Bard asked, his voice still patient and gentle.

"No, My Lord. Some people got in, outside of the town. They were swimming, and they would have died. They would have frozen to death."

"Just you and Ben."

"Yes, Sire. But I didn't –"

Bard raised his hand to stop her. "That's all right. We'll just take this one step at a time. Now, I'm going to tell you what I think happened. I need the truth, but please don't be afraid, Rhian. I think you might have the wrong idea about that night, but I can only know for sure, if you tell me what I need to know." He waited for her nod of agreement. "Garth was not in the pub, when the Dragon came, am I right?"

The girl and lowered her eyes, and her lips trembled. "I'm sorry My Lord. I lied, and told Old Ben he was still there."

"He was in your house then?"

She nodded, as a tear rolled down her cheek.

"Was he awake?"

"No, My Lord."

"Rhian, I've talked to some of the other folk of Dale and they said Garth was 'in his cups' a lot, wasn't he?"

"Yes, but –"

"Just take it one step at a time, please." Bard reminded her, oh, so gently. "Just answer my questions and no more."

"Yes. He liked his drink."

"So, Garth was drunk a lot, wasn't he?"

Rhian nodded, wiping her cheek, not meeting anyone's eyes.

"And he would hurt you, when he was drunk, am I right?"

The girl closed her eyes tight, and nodded again.

"I see. Did he do that often?"

Rhian turned her head away from them for several minutes. Then she whispered. "It was worse when he was drinking."

Bard felt Thranduil's hand grip his shoulder tightly, and strength and calm flow from the Elvenking. He looked up at Thranduil in thanks, and continued with his interrogation.

"On the night the Dragon came, he beat you, didn't he? You had been badly hurt, and covered in bruises, we know this. And Garth did that?"

Still looking at the wall, she nodded, and her lips trembled. "It was hard to breathe, and my side hurt, all the time."

"Your injuries have all been recorded, and they have been healed. Do you feel pain now? Can you take a deep breath?"

"I can breathe much better, and it doesn't hurt anymore." She considered. "My shoulder is better, too."

"That's good. I'm glad. That will help you get better a lot sooner." He smiled and paused for a moment, before continuing with the interrogation. "But that night in Laketown, your husband was drunk, wasn't he? Did he pass out?"

"Aye, he did."

"Could you have woken him, if he passed out, like that?"

The girl took a moment to consider, then said, "I don't think so. We could have carried him, though."

"Rhian, you know Old Ben is not as strong as he used to be, don't you? He manages to get around, and we see him with a cane, sometimes, don't we? And that night, you had all those injuries, plus, you were pregnant. Do you see what I'm getting at? Even if you had told Ben where your husband was, you couldn't have gotten him out, unconscious like that. There was no way to save Garth."

"But I lied to Ben! I'm a murderer!" she cried.

"Look at me, Rhian, please." Bard waited patiently for her to meet his gaze. It took a few moments, and a great deal of effort on her part; he could see that. But, he needed her to know the truth, and he needed her to believe him, and trust him.

"Rhian, even if you had been strong enough, and even if Ben could have helped, there was no time to carry your husband down the stairs and through your house. It would have taken a long time, love. Time you simply didn't have. You all would've died, Rhian, you, Ben, and your baby. Those people who got into your boat later, could have died, too.

Bard leaned forward a tiny bit, and told her again, willing her to believe him. "Rhian, you saved lives by telling Ben he wasn't there, can you understand that?"

Her breathing became shallow and rapid. "B-But it doesn't matter! I didn't want him to come!"

Bard sat back in the chair, steepled his fingers, and held them to his lips as he studied her face. "Tell me the truth Rhian; did you actually think about killing him, or did you simply want to save your baby? You wanted the beatings to stop, am I right?"

"I didn't w-want him to hurt me anymore. I was afraid he would h-hurt the baby." She was shaking visibly, and crying now.

"What you did was based on instinct, not murder. Do you understand the difference? You are a mother, and you had just seconds to choose between an innocent life, and a man who would have killed you."

At her puzzled look, Bard explained. "Men who beat women, Rhian, don't stop. They never, ever do. If you had gotten him out, and you two had come to Dale, he wouldn't have stopped hurting you. You would, in the end, be dead, and who would protect your child? Garth put himself in that drunken state that night, and that's not your fault, is it? You did the right thing, love."

Rhian considered this. "So, I didn't murder him?"

Bard gave her a reassuring mile. "No, Rhian, you didn't. Do you trust me?"

She paused, then said, "Yes, My Lord," quietly, her eyes still overflowing.

"As your King, Rhian, I'll do my best to make sure no one hurts you, or any other young woman like that, again. You don't have to worry anymore. You're safe, now. I know it will take a long time for you to really believe it, but you are.

"Now, as to the pardon I promised you: there will be none, because you don't need one. As King of Dale, I hereby declare you innocent of any crime."

"Thank you, My Lord." Rhian's lip quivered, and she wiped her eyes again.

Bard continued. "As you know, I must be in Dale, this winter, but I'm putting you under the care of King Thranduil here, who is a powerful ruler. While you are in his Palace, you and your child will be under his personal protection."

The Elvenking stepped forward and smiled, "That is correct, dear Lady. As long as you are within my borders, you have my solemn promise that I will keep you and your son from all harm, and you are both to receive the best care that can be provided."

Bard watched the girl crumble as she sobbed with relief, and the Kings sat patiently, and let her cry it out. He was finding it difficult not to shed a few tears himself, to be honest. Thranduil squeezed his shoulder once more, and looked up at his Elf, who was smiling down at him, proudly.

When she at last calmed herself, Bard laughed a little, "Lucky thing for you, King Thranduil is here. He always keeps a handkerchief on him." He winked at the Elvenking, who handed it over, and waited for her to wipe her face.

"There... Do you feel a little better, now?"

She nodded.

"Well that's good, because I've got to talk to you about that son of yours. Do you know the boy has been fussed over by almost half the Palace already? Seems these Elves love babies, and are crawling all over each other to take a peek at him, and I don't blame them." Bard watched the young girl's eyes light up, then he said, "As much as your boy likes all that attention, I think he really wants to meet his Mam. So, what do you say, Rhian, can he meet you?"

Rhian allowed herself a little smile. "Can I?"

"Of course, you can! Now, blow your nose again, and settle back, make yourself comfortable. He's a handsome little man, but you don't have to take my word for it; let's bring him in, and you can see for yourself."

Bard looked to the Elvenking, who left to fetched the boy. A moment later he returned, carrying the now-sleeping infant into the room.

"Oh, that's him…" she whispered putting both hands over her mouth. "There's my baby..."

The Elvenking bowed formally, and said, "Rhian of Dale, it is my great honor to present your son. I wish you both much joy."

Bard stood up, and got out of the way, as Thranduil stepped over to her and placed him in her arms.

Just like this newborn had held the Palace under his spell, he now worked his magic on his own mother, as her face was filled with amazement, love, and hope. She traced his face lightly with her fingers, and shed a few more tears, but these were of joy and wonder.

"Oh... He's so beautiful..." she murmured, eyes wide. "Thank you so much." Then her eyes fell back to her son, mesmerized, as she examined his tiny fingers. "He's the most wonderful thing I've ever seen..."

"He's all yours, Rhian." Bard reached town to stroke the boy's cheek. "He belongs to you and no one will ever take him away from you, I promise. I want you to just concentrate on getting better, so you can take good care of this little man, all right?"

She looked up at the two Kings, and nodded, smiling a genuine smile. Bard was taken aback at the change in her face, and in her countenance. She truly was lovely, when the burdens of the world could fall away from her. He couldn't help but think of his own daughters, and he felt a wave of protectiveness wash over him, as he took in the sight of mother and son.

He smiled at Thranduil, and knew his husband was thinking the same thing. Together, they watched the scene for another moment, then quietly stepped out.

Bard would have many, many days when Kingship would be a burden, but moments like this made it all worthwhile.

 **ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:**

 _Hervenn nîn_ – My husband

 _Meleth nîn_ – My love

 _Fëa_ \- spirit

 _Tithen Pen_ \- Little One

 _Iellig_ \- My daughter


	34. Chapter 34

12

 **Chapter Thirty-Four**

 **The Woodland Realm, 30th of December, 2941 T.A.**

The Elvenking saw and felt the light inside him. With his hands, he used the light to see inside the girl. Bard was there with him, combining their strength, as Thranduil carefully explored, looking for anything amiss. He didn't know how a human female should be, but that didn't matter. Rhian's body knew, and she would show him what was amiss, so he stilled his mind and listened carefully. He was speaking with the girl's body, and it was guiding him to where he needed to be. Bard was still with him, as he moved his hands over her.

 _Here. It hurts here..._ she told him. He looked, and there it was, the source of fever. He gently, and painstakingly removed it from the wall of her womb, and freed it from her body. Then he returned to the place where the purulent wound was and sang to it, knitting the flesh, until it looked pink and healthy, instead of angry, and inflamed. During all this, he had felt Bard's silent comfort and support, throughout. Thranduil slowed his song, and stopped, but –

 _Please…_ His _fëa_ heard the wordless cries. _Please, help me... It hurts…_

The Elvenking stood up straight and opened his eyes.

"Thranduil, what's wrong?" Bard looked at him.

The Healer looked at them both with concern.

"My Lord? Were you able to help her?" Elénaril asked.

Thranduil's brow furrowed, "Yes. The infected piece has left her, and she should heal normally."

Then the Healer searched his face, "You are still concerned."

"There is something else. Her body cries out, but not from where she carried her child."

Elénaril sighed, disappointed in herself. "Forgive me, My King. I have been much occupied, since we arrived with my other patients, and we only believed her problems were due to the pregnancy. This is the first time I have been able to truly examine her fully, as she shrank from almost every touch. I only thought it was the fever that needed to be addressed, and that was a lazy assumption. I am sorry."

"Do not be. You are thorough, and I am confident you would have found the problem, once the danger had passed. Have you rested since we arrived?"

"No, My Lord." Elénaril looked extremely tired. "I have been here since we came, and one patient had a difficult night. I've extended Daeron's healing sleep until tomorrow, but I believe he will be fine."

Thranduil turned to his husband and asked him, "How do you feel, Bard?" He searched the Bowman's face for signs of fatigue, and found little.

Bard answered him. "Fine. Why?"

"I need to search further to find the cause of her pain. Elénaril is too fatigued to help. If we can please concentrate as we did before, I will attempt to help her, with your help."

"Absolutely, Thranduil; whatever you need."

The Elvenking turned to the Healer, "When we are finished, you are to put your Assistant in charge, and get some sleep yourself, is that clear?"

Elénaril nodded. "Yes, Sire."

Once again, Thranduil centered himself with cleansing breaths, as the room became quiet. The song began again, as Thranduil lightly ran his hands over her, eyes closed. He pulled deeper into his _fëa_ , as he searched. He ran his fingers over her skull and her neck, and heard nothing, but her left shoulder cried out to him when he touched it.

There was angry red inflammation, where the bone went into the socket. A ligament had been torn. He rested his hands there and sent the healing light, restoring the damaged tissue. Bard joined him, adding to his efforts, making the process easier.

When that was done, Thranduil paused, listening carefully. Was that it?

No. There was more.

Her other arm, and her legs were carefully checked, but there was nothing. Rhian's abdominal organs were good, so he moved his hands up to her ribcage…

 _Here... It hurts here… Please…_ Thranduil heard and felt Bard's gasp, when he saw it, too.

Three of Rhian's ribs had been broken, on her left side. The uppermost fracture was displaced and had not healed properly; one jagged edge sitting down, close to her lung. They would have to re-break it to set it right, and it had to be done carefully, or he would puncture her lung and possibly kill her.

He felt Bard's consternation at the wound. _Concentrate,_ _Meleth nîn!_ he called to his husband. _I need you to you remain calm and peaceful and strong, for me!_

Thranduil took a few cleansing breaths, and he felt Bard doing this as well. _That is good, Meleth nîn. We are ready…_ Without opening his eyes, he whispered out loud, "Put your hands atop mine, Bard."

That was better. _Deep breath, in and out… O Valar… O Queen of the Stars, guide my hands, guide my fëa; let me do this safely!_ With Bard's help, he carefully broke the rib again, with a muffled crack, then paused to restore his concentration. This was going to be complicated; each piece had to be held together precisely and held completely immobile, as the bones joined together. One edge had to be lifted, while the other lowered into place. _In and out… Concentrate…_

 _Meleth nîn…_ He appealed to his husband, using feelings, not words.

 _I am here…_

Summoning as much inside him as he could, he began his song in a louder, firmer voice as together, they carefully forced the bones into place and held them. Once set, Thranduil sent healing light to the bones to become one again. It was an arduous process; flesh is a challenge to heal, and it is soft and pliable. Bones are dense, and require immense energy and patience, to knit back together. If he let the bones shift, even a little, Rhian could be worse off than when they started.

Fatigue was setting in, and he lost his concentration for a second or two. His glamour fell, and the pain threatened to distract him further, but Bard managed to send him even more, to keep it up. Thranduil's hands shook, but Bard squeezed his hands carefully, sending comfort to him.

 _Take as much as you need, love. I am here..._ They continued on together, holding the bone perfectly still, as the two pieces became one again.

Finally, _finally_ , it was done, and healed perfectly. Thranduil listened, cautiously, for a few moments, but Rhian's body no longer cried out. Slowly, he came back to himself and opened his eyes. Bard was doing the same, with fatigue on his face, but also wonder.

Elénaril set a chair behind Thranduil. "Please sit, My King." She quickly grabbed his arm and helped him down. "Lord Bard, there is a chair behind you, as well. Sit. _Right now."_

She poured them both a glass of water, which they took and drank gratefully. Then Thranduil gazed at his husband, over the sleeping form of their patient. "Are you all right?"

Bard was hunched over, with his face in his one hand, clutching his water glass with the other. "I will be, love. Just give me a minute or two..."

The Healer disagreed. "I am afraid you will need more than that. I am ordering you both back to your chambers immediately and you will rest, for six hours, at least. I would like to see you both later this day," Elénaril ordered. "Especially you, King Bard."

Thranduil helped Bard get up, as he said, "The same for _you,_ Elénaril. You will rest now; that is an order."

After the Kings wearily made it to their bedchamber, removed their clothing, and crawled into the bed, Bard still needed answers. "Thranduil, happened in that room? How was I able to do that?"

"I cannot say," he sighed, "though I am grateful you followed your instinct. Perhaps Mithrandir could explain? When we get up, we must ask him."

"Are he and Bilbo still here?" Bard pulled up the blankets, as he began to settle himself.

"They will be staying for another week or so. Beorn invited them to winter with him, before crossing the Misty Mountains in the spring."

Crawling over into the crook of Thranduil's arm, he laid his head on the Elvenking's shoulder. "I haven't had much chance to talk to Beorn," he mumbled. "He seems a good sort."

"He is." Thranduil yawned. "He is fiercely protective of the living things in our forest."

"'Fierce' is a good word for it," Bard snickered. "I wouldn't want _him_ mad at me. His bear is even more terrifying than Hilda when she gets angry."

Eyes closed, Thranduil smiled. "No one is as frightening as Hilda, when she gets angry."

"I stand corrected." Bard mumbled, as he cuddled into him a little more, and soon, they were deeply asleep.

It was mid-afternoon, before Thranduil awoke, to see the stars sparkle on the ceiling of his chambers. Bard had rolled over and was on his side, facing away from him, still fast asleep, softly snoring, which the Elvenking thought was adorable. He leaned down to kiss a freckle on his shoulder, got out of bed, stretched his shoulder.

After using the necessary, he drank some water from the pitcher on the sideboard, then dressed and went out into the corridor.

Tilda and Bain were walking toward their apartments, accompanied by a guard.

"Hello, children!"

"Hi, Thranduil! Is Da awake yet?" Bain asked. "Can we see him?"

"He is still asleep. I am sorry your Da and I were so tired today, but he needed to help me with an important matter. I know you want to spend time with him, so I am going to ask that he stay another day." At the eagerness on the two faces, he cautioned, "If he cannot, you must not be upset."

"I'll try," said Tilda, frowning.

The children went into their apartments, while Thranduil stepped into his study, to check on some things. Galion had organized the work he needed to catch up on into neat piles. It could wait. He wanted to be with his husband, while he was here. Galion was in the adjoining room, at his desk.

"Good afternoon, My Lord. Shall I get you something to eat?"

"Yes, I would appreciate it. Bard is still asleep, but he will want something when he wakes up."

Galion got up, and bowing to him, he exited.

Thranduil went back into his chambers, and checked on Bard, who was just beginning to stir. He sat down on the bed, and kissed him, when the Bowman sat up and stretched, wiping the sleep out of his eyes.

"How do you feel?" Thranduil asked him.

"Better. Still knackered, but I want to be with the children."

"I agree, Meleth nîn. As to your fatigue, I think you should spend another day recovering, before you try to make such a long trip." He stroked through Bard's black curls, smiling.

"I think I could, but no more than that. Percy's expecting me, and I don't want to leave the city too long. He'll be frantic when I don't show up tomorrow, and think something's happened."

"Feren will go as scheduled, with the supply carts, and he will tell Percy of your delay."

"Aye, let's do that. If there's any problem with me gone, Feren will help him sort it out, and I'll feel better the day after tomorrow." He kissed Thranduil once more, then got up to take care of personal matters and get dressed. "Is there anything to eat?"

"It is coming. Bain and Tilda are back in their rooms. Shall I get them?"

"In a minute. Should I be worried about Sigrid finding out about what happened with Rhian? I honestly don't understand it myself."

"The Healers are discreet."

"I can't believe the condition that girl was in!" Bard shook his head, and gritted his teeth. "How was that bastard allowed to get away with that? Her father was with her in the camp; didn't Phylip see all the marks on her, and the pain she was in? How could any parent turn a blind eye like that? No wonder Rhian felt alone!"

"I am afraid we may never know the answers to that, but I know you'll do your best to prevent this from happening again."

"Aye, your right, love." Bard's eyes were steely. "Never again."

Galion came in with their food just then, and so did Tilda, carrying Charlotte. Bain had gone to visit some friends, so Tilda enjoyed the attention, sitting between her fathers. She was excited, because Galion was going to take her with him to his study and give her paper and pencils so she can draw pictures, and he had some children's books in Westron for her to read.

After sending her on her way with the Chief Aide, they went to the Healing Halls, once again.

Sigrid was changing the baby on a table in a treatment room, when they came in. "Hi! Just a minute, please." She finished fastening the clout on the baby. The boy was his waving his fists, and kicking his legs, screaming in fury. "He hates being changed," Sigrid grinned.

"So did you, as I recall." Bard told her. As soon as the girl put him on another small blanket, and swaddled him tightly, he began to settle down, although he still fussed some. Bard motioned to take the baby, and she handed him over. "Hello there, Little Man. Have you been giving my girl a hard time?" The infant stopped to listen to the sound of his voice, and looked up at him, wide eyed and blinking, then began to suck on one of his fists.

Thranduil looked over his shoulder, at the child. "He is enchanting."

"All babies are, love, and that's the way it should be." Bard grinned, then he asked his daughter. "Is Rhian awake?"

Sigrid's face lost its smile. "Aye. You need to speak with Elénaril; I'll stay here with him." She cooed to the infant, then sat down on a chair.

They found the Healer, checking on a patient from Dale. She quietly stepped out of the room, and closed the door.

"Did you both rest?" she asked them.

"Yes, did you?" Bard asked. "You looked as exhausted as I felt, Elénaril."

"I did, My Lord, thank you for asking. Now, I am concerned once more, about Rhian."

"What is amiss?" the Elvenking asked.

"My Lord, she refuses to see the infant. She is afraid to become attached, if King Bard should take him away. I tried to reassure her, but she became agitated."

Bard looked at Thranduil with a determined look. "Right. Let's get this settled."

Elénaril said to Bard quietly, "Two things: Firstly, you will be gentle and patient with her, and not upset her, is that clear? Secondly, when you are finished, I will thoroughly examine you. Your condition is unique, and I must be sure your body has not been badly affected by using your fëa to heal the girl."

"Oh, I'll be fine – "

"And we will make sure of that. No arguments." Elénaril informed him.

Bard looked at Thranduil, who said, "She is right Hervenn nîn. As soon as we are finished, we will be examined," and said to Elénaril, "but I do not want Sigrid present, and she is not to know the extent of Bard's participation."

"Yes, Sire. And one more thing," she added. "Rhian still has difficulty being touched; especially by men; so, you will respect that."

The two Kings looked at each other with a combination of fury and sadness, then nodded to the Healer, before she went back to work.

"You know, I wish Garth were still alive. I want to kill that bastard myself, slowly and painfully." Bard's jaw was set. They stopped, while the King of Dale sought to calm himself. Anger was justifiable, but inflicting it upon this young girl would be cruel.

He felt Thranduil's hand on his shoulder, squeezing it in encouragement. "I understand, Meleth nîn. But we must be stronger and better than that animal that was her husband, yes?"

Bard sighed. "That could be our Sigrid lying there, so broken… All these young girls are my responsibility, and I can't allow this. I won't."

The Elvenking sympathized. "When an Elf is raped, it kills the fëa, causing them to fade, did you know that? Perhaps, a part of Rhian has died, as well, or is hidden away so deeply, that it seems so. But she has advantages, Bard. She is human, and she lives, plus she has you as her King. Come, let us help to heal her heart, just as we healed her body." He took Bard by the hand and led him forward.

Again, they made their way into the last room on the left. Rhian's eyes were closed, resting, so Bard quietly sat down in the chair beside the bed, while Thranduil stood behind him. She was a lovely girl, and her long dark hair that had been freshly washed, but she looked lost and unhappy. Her cheeks finally had some color in them, because she could breathe easier, but there were still dark circles under her eyes, and she looked gaunt.

"Rhian, it's time to wake up." Bard said, gently.

The girl's eyes blinked open, and she turned toward them. When she saw the two Kings, she jumped with fright, eyes wide.

Before she had a chance to speak, Bard said gently, "Rhian, please be calm. You are perfectly safe. I promise, no one will hurt you. You're still recovering, but I need to talk with you, all right?"

She didn't say anything; just stared at them, wide-eyed, as she nodded, ever so slightly.

"We need to speak of the night of the fires. I know Daeron told you that you will face no punishment, and that is true, but I must know the truth of what happened. Can you do that, for me? I promise you on my oath as your King, no one will hurt you, but I must know the absolute truth."

She sank back in her pillows a little bit, and nodded again.

"Now, there are some things I'm sure of, and some things I think I can guess. I'm going to ask you some questions, Rhian, and you must answer me honestly, do you understand?" He asked her kindly, but firmly.

"Yes, I will." Her face didn't just look tired, it looked weary and hopeless.

Rhian's eyes were like Tilda's after the battle, blank and lifeless. His throat tightened, and he swallowed, but then continued.

"Now, let's start with what I know. The night the Dragon came, you were pregnant, and the one who helped you was Old Ben. He has said that he was the only one in the boat when he came to you. Am I right, so far?"

She nodded yes, her face and eyes still blank still shut down.

"No one else?" Bard asked, his voice still patient and gentle.

"No, My Lord. Some people got in, outside of the town. They were swimming, and they would have died. They would have frozen to death."

"Just you and Ben."

"Yes, Sire. But I didn't –"

Bard raised his hand to stop her. "That's all right. We'll just take this one step at a time. Now, I'm going to tell you what I think happened. I need the truth, but please don't be afraid, Rhian. I think you might have the wrong idea about that night, but I can only know for sure, if you tell me what I need to know." He waited for her nod of agreement. "Garth was not in the pub, when the Dragon came, am I right?"

The girl and lowered her eyes, and her lips trembled. "I'm sorry My Lord. I lied, and told Old Ben he was still there."

"He was in your house then?"

She nodded, as a tear rolled down her cheek.

"Was he awake?"

"No, My Lord."

"Rhian, I've talked to some of the other folk of Dale and they said Garth was 'in his cups' a lot, wasn't he?"

"Yes, but –"

"Just take it one step at a time, please." Bard reminded her, oh, so gently. "Just answer my questions and no more."

"Yes. He liked his drink."

"So, Garth was drunk a lot, wasn't he?"

Rhian nodded, wiping her cheek, not meeting anyone's eyes.

"And he would hurt you, when he was drunk, am I right?"

The girl closed her eyes tight, and nodded again.

"I see. Did he do that often?"

Rhian turned her head away from them for several minutes. Then she whispered. "It was worse when he was drinking."

Bard felt Thranduil's hand grip his shoulder tightly, and strength and calm flow from the Elvenking. He looked up at Thranduil in thanks, and continued with his interrogation.

"On the night the Dragon came, he beat you, didn't he? You had been badly hurt, and covered in bruises, we know this. And Garth did that?"

Still looking at the wall, she nodded, and her lips trembled. "It was hard to breathe, and my side hurt, all the time."

"Your injuries have all been recorded, and they have been healed. Do you feel pain now? Can you take a deep breath?"

"I can breathe much better, and it doesn't hurt anymore." She considered. "My shoulder is better, too."

"That's good. I'm glad. That will help you get better a lot sooner." He smiled and paused for a moment, before continuing with the interrogation. "But that night in Laketown, your husband was drunk, wasn't he? Did he pass out?"

"Aye, he did."

"Could you have woken him, if he passed out, like that?"

The girl took a moment to consider, then said, "I don't think so. We could have carried him, though."

"Rhian, you know Ben is not as strong as he used to be, don't you? He manages to get around, and we see him with a cane, sometimes, don't we? And that night, you had all those injuries, plus, you were pregnant. Do you see what I'm getting at? Even if you had told Ben where your husband was, you couldn't have gotten him out, unconscious like that. There was no way to save Garth."

"But I lied to Ben! I'm a murderer!" she cried.

"Look at me, Rhian, please." Bard waited patiently for her to meet his gaze. It took a few moments, and a great deal of effort on her part; he could see that. But, he needed her to know the truth, and he needed her to believe him, and trust him.

"Rhian, even if you had been strong enough, and even if Ben could have helped, there was no time to carry your husband down the stairs and through your house. It would have taken a long time, love. Time you simply didn't have. You all would've died, Rhian, you, Ben, and your baby. Those people who got into your boat later, could have died, too.

Bard leaned forward a tiny bit, and told her again, willing her to believe him. "Rhian, you saved lives by telling Ben he wasn't there, can you understand that?"

Her breathing became shallow and rapid. "B-But it doesn't matter! I didn't want him to come!"

Bard sat back in the chair, steepled his fingers, and held them to his lips as he studied her face. "Tell me the truth Rhian; did you actually think about killing him, or did you simply want to save your baby? You wanted the beatings to stop, am I right?"

"I didn't w-want him to hurt me anymore. I was afraid he would h-hurt the baby." She was shaking visibly, and crying now.

"What you did was based on instinct, not murder. Do you understand the difference? You are a mother, and you had just seconds to choose between an innocent life, and a man who would have killed you."

At her puzzled look, Bard explained. "Men who beat women, Rhian, don't stop. They never, ever do. If you had gotten him out, and you two had come to Dale, he wouldn't have stopped hurting you. You would, in the end, be dead, and who would protect your child? Garth put himself in that drunken state that night, and that's not your fault, is it? You did the right thing, love."

Rhian considered this. "So, I didn't murder him?"

Bard gave her a reassuring mile. "No, Rhian, you didn't. Do you trust me?"

She paused, then said, "Yes, My Lord," quietly, her eyes still overflowing.

"As your King, Rhian, I'll do my best to make sure no one hurts you, or any other young woman like that, again. You don't have to worry anymore. You're safe, now. I know it will take a long time for you to really believe it, but you are.

"Now, as to the pardon I promised you: there will be none, because you don't need one. As King of Dale, I hereby declare you innocent of any crime."

"Thank you, My Lord." Rhian's lip quivered, and she wiped her eyes again.

Bard continued. "As you know, I must be in Dale, this winter, but I'm putting you under the care of King Thranduil here, who is a powerful ruler. While you are in his Palace, you and your child will be under his personal protection."

The Elvenking stepped forward and smiled, "As long as you are within my borders, Rhian of Dale, I will keep you and your son from all harm, and you are both to receive the best care that can be provided."

Rhian broke down completely, and the Kings sat patiently, as she cried it out, though his own eyes stung. Thranduil squeezed his shoulder again, and offered him a supportive smile.

When she at last calmed herself he said, "Lucky for you, King Thranduil always keeps a handkerchief on him." He winked at the Elvenking, who handed it over, and waited for her to wipe her face.

"There... Do you feel a little better, now?"

She nodded.

"That's good, because I've got to talk to you about that son of yours. Do you know the boy has been fussed over by almost half the Palace already? Seems these Elves love babies, and are crawling all over each other to take a peek at him, and I don't blame them."

"They are?"

"He's loving the attention, but the thing is, what he really wants is to meet his Mam. So, what do you say, Rhian?"

Rhian allowed herself a little smile. "Can I?"

"Of course! Now, blow your nose again, and settle back, make yourself comfortable. He's a handsome little man, but you don't have to take my word for it; let's bring him in, and you'll see for yourself."

Bard looked to the Elvenking, who left to fetched the boy. A moment later he returned, carrying the now-sleeping infant into the room.

"Oh, that's him…" she whispered putting both hands over her mouth. "There's my baby..."

The Elvenking bowed formally, and said, "Rhian of Dale, it is my great honor to present your son. I wish you both much joy."

Bard stood up, and got out of the way, as Thranduil stepped over to her and placed him in her arms.

Just like this newborn had held the Palace under his spell, he now worked his magic on his own mother, as her face was filled with amazement, love, and hope. She traced his face lightly with her fingers, and shed a few more tears, but these were of joy and wonder.

"Oh... He's so beautiful..." she murmured, eyes wide. "Thank you so much." Then her eyes fell back to her son, mesmerized, as she examined his tiny fingers. "He's the most wonderful thing I've ever seen..."

"He's all yours, Rhian." Bard reached town to stroke the boy's cheek. "He belongs to you and no one will ever take him away from you, I promise. I want you to just concentrate on getting better, so you can take good care of this little man, all right?"

She looked up at the two Kings, and nodded, smiling a genuine smile. Bard was taken aback at the change in her face, and in her countenance. When the burdens of the world fell away, she would be truly beautiful. Rhian reminded him of his own daughters, and a wave of protectiveness washed over him, as he took in the sight of mother and son.

Thranduil's expression revealed the same thing. After watching the scene for another moment, they quietly stepped out.

Bard would have many, many days when Kingship would be a burden, but moments like this made it all worthwhile.

 **ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:**

 _Hervenn nîn_ – My husband

 _Meleth nîn_ – My love

 _Fëa_ \- spirit

 _Tithen Pen_ \- Little One

 _Iellig_ \- My daughter


	35. Chapter 35

8

 **Chapter Thirty-Five**

 **The Woodland Realm; 31st of December 2941 T.A.**

That evening was spent in the Royal Chambers with the children. Bard was content to watch his family, etching this scene into his memory, to take back with him to Dale. This room was a far cry from Laketown, and even their rooms in the Castle in Dale had a makeshift feel about them. These chambers held a permanence that he found soothing, with the warmth and light from the fireplace, sitting on the comfortable couches, while the kids and Thranduil told each other stories about themselves, was perfect. At this moment, he didn't think it was possible to be happier.

Thranduil's rapport with the children was relaxed and natural, and for that, Bard was supremely grateful. They were learning to love him, and depend on him, and his affection for them was turning into the deep, lasting, parental love they deserved. His family was complete, in a way he had never dared hope for.

"Thrandool?" Tilda pointed to the pictures on the mantel piece. "Is that Tauriel when she was little? And that's Legolas, right?"

"Yes, they are, _Tithen pen_. Do you like them?"

Sigrid looked up at where Tilda was pointing, "Oh, they were so cute!"

Tilda laughed a little. "Look at how big their ears were! Are all Elf babies like that?"

"Yes, _hênig,_ most of our children's ears are bigger, compared to humans, and as they 'grow into them.'" Thranduil laughed. "Legolas did _not_ like his ears, at all. Galion and I tried to tell him he is a Sindarin Elf, and his ears are smaller than a Silvan Elf, but that did not make him feel better."

"Well, I like them." Tilda assured him. "What's he doing in the picture?"

"Legolas had just climbed up one of his favorite trees, and sat on a lower limb, and was very proud of himself. He was as fond of climbing as I was, at his age." Thranduil got up and took the two frames off the mantle and carried them to the couch, so Tilda and the others could see up close. Legolas was sitting, leaning his head back on the trunk of the tree, with his eyes closed, enjoying his accomplishment.

Bain leaned over to see. "Looks like Tauriel likes deer." The other frame held a sketch of a young Tauriel petting the neck of a fawn, with the doe, looking on. Her eyes were wide with wonder and delight, and so was her smile.

"You're right; Tauriel's ears are bigger. He didn't have much to complain about, did he?" Bard said.

The Elvenking smiled again. "That's true. The irony is Tauriel always loved the size of her ears."

"Who drew these?" Sigrid asked.

Bard was surprised when his husband replied, "I did, many years ago. I am glad you like them."

"You did these? And the one by our closet?" Bard asked him.

Thranduil nodded. It is a diversion of mine, when I can spare the time. I find it relaxing."

The portraits were very well done, and had captured the likeness of their subjects wonderfully.

Thranduil nodded at Bard, and smiled at Tilda. "Maybe this winter, if you can sit still, I shall draw your picture. Would you like that?"

"That would be great!" She threw her arms out wide, and hugged him. "You could draw Sigrid and Bain, too, and send them to Da, and then he wouldn't miss us, so much."

"That is a clever idea, _Tithen Pen_. You are kind to worry about your Da."

"I am. He's never been apart from us, and I worry about him being too lonely'" Sigrid, was sitting on the floor, leaning against Bard's knees.

He looked down at his daughter, trying to reassure her with a smile. Then Bard asked his husband, "Can you draw portraits from memory? I know you made wonderful drawings of Dale, but people's faces can be difficult."

"I can do both. It is a skill I have practiced for many years, although I have not done it in a long time. I look forward to picking it up, again."

Sigrid looked at the drawings again. "I would love to learn how to draw like that. I'll need to, if I am to keep good notes, as a healer."

"Do not worry, you shall learn. But you must take time to be a girl, and spend time with your friends. That is important for all of you. There are spaces in the palace to run and play, and I expect you all to work hard on your studies, but I also wish you to be active and have fun."

Bain looked encouraged. "There was never much space to run around in Laketown. My Da would take me shooting sometimes on the shore, but that was just him and me. When we got to Dale, me and the boys could only go out on sunny days, and even then, it was cold."

"The boys and _I,"_ Bard corrected. "Do you have any indoor games the kids could learn, Thranduil?"

"We do. And because you all behaved well during your trip, there is the gift I promised you, but you must wait until after your Da leaves. It is a surprise."

This got all the children's attention, and soon they were begging the Elvenking for hints, but he would not give them any. They even tried to get a hint from Bard, but he shrugged his shoulders and told them he had no idea, either, which made them all groan.

Bard studied his husband thoughtfully. Perhaps, after he left for Dale, another problem could be solved. An idea was beginning to form in his mind, but he needed to check something with Galion, first…

He excused himself for a moment, and went to see if his idea would be possible.

When he came back in, the children were still sitting there, and Thranduil was telling them a story about when Legolas was small, and he tried to ride his _Ada's_ Elk, though he been told many times not to.

"Your Elk was scary! I wouldn't go near him!" Tilda said.

"This was a different Elk, _Tithen Pen_. An ancestor to _Bara-Maethor_. They are only scary to my enemies. But still, he was much too big and strong for Legolas to try to ride."

"What happened?"

"Legolas went into forest where the Elk was, climbed up on a tree and jumped on his back. He tried to ride him, but _Lavan-Dagor_ refused to cooperate with my young son. He simply took him back to the Palace, and right through the Main Doors. When Legolas tried to jump down, _Lavan-Dagor_ turned and growled at him."

"I thought you said he wasn't mean." Tilda said.

"He was not mean. He could make loud, mean noises, because that is what he did in battle, but this time, he wanted to make sure I found out what my son was up to."

Bard stood away from the scene, leaning against the doorframe and listening. His heart felt full at the sight.

"What does _Lavan-Dagor_ mean?" Bain asked him.

"It means War Beast, _Authon_ _nîth_." He smiled down at their son.

"You keep naming your Elks scary names!" Tilda pouted. "And what does _Authon nîth_ mean?"

"It is something that makes me think of your brother. It means 'Young Warrior.'"

"I like it! Da? Did you hear that?" Bain said proudly. "I'm an ' _Authon nîth'_ in Elvish."

"I heard. And to be specific, the language is Sindarin, which you all will be learning, as will I." Bard said, as he came over to the couch and sat down with the family. "You'll be getting lessons while you're here, and you'll be hearing it spoken, so I don't doubt you'll learn fast."

"Your Da is right, children, you will learn it quickly. If someone is speaking Sindarin to you too quickly, ask them to slow down, and always remember to ask if you don't understand something. That is the best way to learn any new language." Thranduil said. "You children will have an easier time learning it than your father, because you are so young. Especially you, Tilda."

"Me?"

"Yes, little children can learn several languages at once, _Tithen pen."_

"I already know what that means, Thrandool. It means 'Little One.'" Tilda thought for a moment. "Sigrid calls you _Ada_ , now. What does that mean?"

Bard answered for his husband. "It means 'Da.'"

Tilda looked thoughtful, and nothing was said. Bard and Thranduil had agreed at the outset of their marriage, to allow the children to call him what they were comfortable with. As long as they were respectful, and used his title properly in public, it was fine. Terms of endearment must come naturally, and never be forced.

"It's time for you Sea Monsters to get ready for your baths and bed. Sigrid, could you get Tilda in her bath, first? And Bain, you go after, and don't fake it. I'll be checking." The children got up, moaning in consternation, but Bard was firm. "We'll be in to say good night when the baths are done."

As the children left to go to their apartment, Bard leaned on Thranduil and put his head on the Elf's shoulder with a sigh. "I am still done in, from this morning. I'd love nothing better than to drag you into bed and pounce on you, but I just don't have it in me, love."

"I am afraid I feel the same way. Perhaps in the morning. It has been a long and eventful day, _Meleth nîn_.

They looked at the fire, blazing cheerfully. Bard told his Elf, "I love it here. This feels like a real home to me, even more than my house in Laketown did. After Mattie died, it was just… a place to live."

Perhaps for you to feel at home, you need someone who loves you, _"_ Thranduil smiled. "As for myself, I feel the same about my chambers, since we were wed."

'Dale still feels so temporary, and it will take ages for the Castle to be finished. I won't let them start on it, until everyone else in Dale is warm and dry. But, this place," He waved his hand. "You made it home to me, too."

Thranduil put his arm around Bard. "That is the highest of compliments, _Meleth nîn_. I hope the children will think of it as their home, as well. But, _Hervenn nîn_ , my home will always be wherever you are," he said, as he nuzzled Bard's neck.

"Life takes you by surprise, doesn't it? Sometimes, I still can't believe it, Thranduil. I've only been with you a month, and it feels so natural, and right. It's all new, and it's been forever, at the same time."

"That is how I feel." The Elvenking kissed him, I sighed. "I do not want you to go. I have just gotten you, and I am losing you again." Thranduil looked into his eyes, sadly, then shook his head, "Forgive me, _Meleth nîn._ I do not wish to make things more difficult; I am just fatigued."

Bard swallowed. "I feel the same way. I'm going to hate it, without you. Without all of you…" He turned his head to look at those beautiful blue-grey eyes, so like the sea, and said firmly, "You were only saying what we both feel. Thranduil, you must always talk to me, promise? I know sometimes it's hard for you, but I'll always want to know what you are thinking and feeling, no matter what it is. I love you, and I need to know."

The Elf sighed. "You are right. I promise."

Bard kissed him again, then they relaxed back into the couch and enjoyed the warmth of each other. After a while, Bard sat up. "Let's go say good night to the children, and get some sleep."

They got up, and holding hands, went into the children's apartment. Tilda was out of the tub, and Sigrid had braided her hair for the night. She was sitting on her bed, crossed-legged, putting Charlotte's nightgown on, when they went into her room. "Hi, Da. We're almost ready for bed. Are you going to tell me a story, Thrandool?"

"If you like, and if it is all right with your Da." They both looked at Bard with pleading eyes.

Bard rolled his eyes, "You two... Make it a short one. I'm going to see what Bain is up to."

Bain was already in bed, with damp hair, reading. "Hello, my boy. What are you reading?"

"Galion found me a book of stories about Silvan Elves."

"Sounds good, hope you like it." He searched his son's face. "Are you comfortable here? Do you like it?" Bard asked him, as he sat down on the bed, facing him. "I know a lot has happened to us, Bain, and we've hardly had a chance to talk about it. Are you happy with all this?"

"I like it here so far, and I love this bed. Galion told me this was Legolas's room. I hope he doesn't mind me sleeping here."

"I don't think he'll mind. He'll be gone for quite a while. You just take care of what you find here, and enjoy yourself."

"Da? Can I ask you something?"

"Sure, son. Anything."

"You really love Thranduil, right? I mean, I know you loved Mam and all, but is it different, or the same?"

"Well, in a way it's different, because he's an Elf, and he's a male. But, you love who you love, Bain. I would never marry anyone if I wasn't in love. And I would never _ever_ marry him, if I wasn't sure he'd be good to you kids."

"But, what about Mam?"

Bard moved beside Bain on the bed, and put his arm around him. "Bain. I loved your mother, so much. And she loved me. I would've been happy to spend my whole life with her, believe me. But things just didn't work out that way, and that was nobody's fault. Life is like that, son: full of good and bad surprises. When I fell in love with Thranduil, it didn't take anything away from her, and I'm glad of it. I'll always carry her in my heart, and that won't change. I hope you do, too, Bain, because she loved you very much."

"What about Legolas's mother?" Bain asked.

"Thranduil loved his wife, every bit as much, and it's the same for him. They are a part of us. Nothing we feel for each other will can change that." Bard hugged his son tighter. "And, most important, nothing I feel for _anyone_ could change the way I feel about you, or Sigrid, or Tilda. Never doubt that."

Bain leaned his head against Bard's shoulder. "I like Thranduil a lot."

"I'm glad you do. He likes you, too. He thinks you'll be a good man, and a better King than I am."

"But you're a great King! I could never be as good as you!"

Bard chuckled. "Oh, I promise you son, you'll be a much better King, because you'll have something I never got."

"What's that?"

"A chance to actually train for the job! Thranduil and I both had things kind of dumped on us, and I'm scrambling to do the best I can. Strictly speaking, I'm flying by the seat of my pants, and if Thranduil, Galion, Percy and Hilda weren't helping me, I would be a disaster! But you, son, are going to have help, training, and an education that I can only dream of. Thranduil wants that for you just as much as I do."

"Why would he want to help me, so much?"

Bard rubbed Bain's shoulder. "Did you know that Thranduil knew Goran, the Founder of Dale? And he knew all the Kings of Dale, right up to Girion?" Bain shook his head, wide-eyed. "Well, he did. And he says he sees the same qualities of all those men in you. Maybe, over the winter, you could ask him about it. I'll bet he's got plenty of stories he could tell you, and maybe even some books about all of the Kings."

Bain's face lit up. "That would be great."

Bard kissed his son's temple and got up, saying, "Enjoy your book, but try to get some rest, yeah?"

"Love you, Da."

As Bard reached the door of Bain's room, Thranduil came in to say good night. "I hope you sleep well, Bain. We shall see you in the morning."

"Goodnight, Thranduil. Thanks again for giving me Legolas's room."

"I am glad you like it."

They closed Bain's door, "Is Tilda asleep already?" Bard asked the Elf.

"Not yet, she's waiting to kiss her Da good night."

Thranduil sat on the couch in the common room, while Bard kissed their little one's forehead. As he was shutting the door, Sigrid was coming out of the bathing room, in her robe and nightgown. She came and sat between them.

"Tired, darling? You've had a busy couple of days." He put his arm around her as she leaned her head against his shoulder.

"I am, but I'm not; does that make sense? It's all so different, here, and it's beautiful, but it's still strange. I'll get used to it though." She laughed. "Helping deliver a baby is a lot more than I was doing before, isn't it? I'm glad I did it, but I don't want to do things like that all the time, yet. I don't think I'm ready."

Thranduil looked at her with concern. "Did the birth upset you?"

"No. It was exciting and interesting, but only because Hannah and Daeron knew what was going on, and what to do. When the baby was being born, it was strangling, but Hannah didn't get upset; she stayed calm, worked fast, and just took care of it, and the baby lived. I'd need to train for years before I could do that, and I don't want to rush myself. I could make a mistake, and someone could die."

Bard said, "Good thinking; before you can run, you must learn to walk. You also have the right to be young. You're only fifteen, and there is so much else a young girl like you needs to learn."

"I'll be sixteen next month." Sigrid reminded him.

Bard winced. "That you will. I can hardly believe it, darling. You grew up faster than I could have imagined." Then he winked. "Maybe you won't celebrate your birthday here."

At Sigrid's confused look, Bard explained. "Thranduil, has promised me you kids won't get any older or bigger, so I don't miss anything." He smirked at his daughter and booped her nose.

"Oh, Da!" Sigrid rolled her eyes. "You look tired, so go to bed. I'm going to stay up and work on this sock for a while, then I'm headed there myself."

As they got up, Thranduil kissed her cheek, and asked, "Who is the sock for, _Iellig_?"

"For Da. Auntie Hil taught me to knit, and I enjoy it; it helps calm my mind, and I relax, like when you draw, Ada. I like making them."

"And I like wearing them." Bard told her. "Nothing keeps my feet warmer. Sleep well, darling."

"Good night, Da. Oh, and don't worry. Before I go to bed, I'll take care of Bain's book and turn his lamp down, and pull up Tilda's covers. You two look dead on your feet."

Thranduil smiled down at her. "Thank you, _Iellig."_

Sigrid was right. He was tired. They went into their bedchamber, and after taking off their clothes, they barely managed a few good night kisses and caresses, before they both were sound asleep.

 **SINDARIN TRANSLATIONS:**

 _Tithen pen_ – Little one

 _Hênig_ – My child

 _Bara-Maethor_ – Literal translation: "Fiery Warrior"

 _Lavan-Dagor_ – Literal translation: "War Beast."

 _Authon nîth_ – "Young Warrior"

 _Meleth nîn_ – My love

 _Iellig_ – My daughter


	36. Chapter 36

**Chapter Thirty-Six**

 **1st of January 2942 T.A.**

Thranduil and Bard woke up early, and, feeling much refreshed, made the most of their time alone. Good morning kisses quickly turned into ardor, and soon they were locked in a lover's embrace. Thranduil loved the tight heat of his husband, and he looked down and watched, as Bard came undone under him. He loved everything he and Bard had done in bed, but this was his favorite. He couldn't get enough of the sight of his Bowman's face, eyes closed, gasping and moaning. All the noises he made brought out such feral, yet loving passion in Thranduil, only wanting to bring them to new heights, if it were possible. He couldn't believe this beautiful man of Dale wanted him, and loved him. It was such a revelation, to find such happiness again.

He was home. Bard gave him a home for his body, yes, but more than anything else, made a home for him in his heart. As Thranduil and Bard moved through their orgasms, and aftershocks, the safety and warmth of just belonging was overpowering.

All too soon, this wonderful warmth, these arms and legs, that soft, breathy voice and laugh would be far away in Dale, and he could hardly bear the thought of it.

Bard must have known this, because he held the Elf to him, whispering softly, running his fingers through his hair, and gently stroking his back, as Thranduil still nuzzled his neck and shoulder; throat tight, eyes stinging, swallowing hard.

"It's all right, love," Bard murmured. "We'll get through this." It sounded like he was convincing himself, too.

"I know we can. And we will, _Meleth nîn."_ Thranduil lifted his head and smiled bravely down to him. "And the time will pass before we know it, and we will be together again."

They held each other for a few minutes more, then moved so that Thranduil was on his back, and Bard was nestled beside him, as they looked up at the constellations on the ceiling.

"How is that going to work, exactly? We've talked about it some, but…" Bard asked.

"It is as we spoke of before. You will be needed in Dale much more than I will be needed here for the next decade or so. Dale will need help to establish itself as a seat of power in the North, from both my Kingdom and Erebor. My presence will be required, I believe, to help its stability. For the most part, we can be together, but there will be times I must be here, and whenever possible, you and the children can come with us. Once you feel Bain is ready to take over, then you will come here permanently, and the children can visit. Compared to the rest of our lives, a few decades are not long, Meleth nîn. We have forever."

"Won't your Council and your people resent your absence so much?"

"At this time, they are glad the Dragon is dead, and they are grateful that you helped ensure the Kingdom's future. They understand what needs to be done. When Galadriel cleared Dol Guldur, it made our forest somewhat safer as a whole, so it will be easier to clear it of spiders, Orcs and such. My presence in the Woodland Realm, will not be as important as it was before the Dragon was killed or Sauron was banished. My place will be in Dale, to prepare for the future."

"We just have to get through this winter..."

"We do." Thranduil kissed Bard's hair.

After breakfast, Bard took the children to spend time with the people from Dale. Thranduil went to see Feren, to tell him that Bard wouldn't be returning with him that day.

"Is King Bard well? How are you, Sire?" Feren asked, concerned, when Thranduil explained about Rhian's injuries.

"He is a bit fatigued, but Elénaril is watching him closely. I need you to make sure the supply wagons get to Dale safely, and give word to Lord Percy about the delay. Please don't give him the details; it will just cause him worry."

"Certainly, My Lord."

Thranduil put his hand on his oldest friend's shoulder. "I am sorry to take you away from your wife and the girls, but there is no one I trust more to ensure the safety of Dale for the winter."

"I am be sorry to leave them, but Thranduil, this is my job." Feren assured him. "I do not trust anyone other than myself, either. Glélindë understands this, even though we have the girls. And soon, they will be joining us there."

"If you would, Feren, there are some things I would like you to take to Dale. They are to be surprises for Tauriel…"

After Thranduil explained what he wanted, Feren agreed. "I know just the ones. In fact, I have another idea to suggest, if I may…" And Feren explained his predicament, and the solution.

Thranduil grinned widely and nodded and laughed. "It may take Bard some time to get used to it, but he will learn to appreciate it. I am glad you thought of it. If you could delay your departure for a few moments, I would like to write a letter, explaining it."

Feren laughed, too and shook his head. "I promise to write and tell you what happens, Mellon nîn."

"I look forward to it," the Elvenking smirked.

After seeing his Commander and the supply caravan off, he went to the Healing Halls to visit Daeron. The Guard had been released from his healing-sleep, and was in bed, sleeping lightly, so when Thranduil knocked on his open door, Daeron opened his eyes in surprise.

"My Lord! I was not expecting you!" Daeron sat up quickly and smoothed his hair.

"Please, do be alarmed. I wanted to see how you fared, and to thank you for your efforts to save the girl. Have you seen her and the child?"

"Not yet, My Lord, I have only awoken a short while ago."

"How do you feel?" Thranduil asked, concerned, as he walked further into the room, "You were very weak when I last saw you. I carried you in here; do you not remember?"

"I am afraid I do not. But I feel better." He sat up, and reached for his robe. "I should be going to my quarters soon. King Bard will leave for Dale soon, and..." Daeron tried to stand, but he swayed slightly.

Thranduil quickly grabbed Daeron's arm to steady him, and helped him sit back down. "King Bard will be here for one more day, but that should not concern you, right now. The other guards will be taking your shifts, and Turamarth will be serving Dale this winter as well; he left with Feren this morning."

"I do not understand, My Lord. I thought Turamarth was to remain here. Has something happened?"

He shook his head. "He volunteered to go to Dale, in place of another Guard who needed to stay. This Guard's father was killed in the Battle, and, although his mother has not faded, it was felt that his presence would offer some comfort and ensure her safety. Wintering in Dale would expedite Tur's fluency in Westron."

Daeron considered this, and nodded his head in approval. "That is a good idea. I hope the Guard's mother will recover from her grief."

"The miracle of Eärendil eased those who mourn. I have yet to discover the extent of the Blessing, but all will be revealed, in time. We are living in extraordinary times, I think," Thranduil mused, "and the Valar seems to want to ensure our success.

"In the meantime, you shall stay here until Elénaril releases you, then you will rest in your quarters until she sanctions your return to duty, and not before."

"Thank you, My Lord." Daeron looked a bit relieved. "I am much better, but still very tired." When he saw the Elvenking look of concern, he said, "I could not have done differently, My Lord."

Thranduil put his hand on the Guard's shoulder. "I understand. As with all things, you gave your best effort, and I am proud of you."

The Guard looked up at him, and nodded his thanks.

"I was hoping to pay a short visit to see Rhian and her son. Do you wish to accompany me?"

"Very much, Sire, but I am afraid I cannot do so, without assistance."

Thranduil stretched out his hand. "Then assistance you shall have."

Daeron made to stand up, and after a few moments, while leaning on Thranduil's arm, made his way out of the room.

As they walked down the hall, Thranduil filled the guard in with regards to Bard's judgement of innocence, and the entire circumstances of her arrival in Dale. He also told Daeron the extent of Rhian's injuries.

Daeron was stricken. "We kept urging her to take deep breaths… It could have killed her, My Lord!"

"But that did not happen, and you saved them both, _Mellon nîn."_ Thranduil reassured him. "You are in a weakened state, and it is important that you focus on the positive outcome, do you understand?"

Daeron nodded. "Yes, My Lord."

They reached the last door on the left, and Thranduil knocked.

"Come in," said a soft voice.

Thranduil opened the door and stuck his head in. "Good morning, My Lady. I have someone with me who wishes to see you." He opened the door further, and helped Daeron into the room.

They got to the chair beside her bed, then the guard sat down. "How are you, Rhian? How is the child?"

Are you all right, Daeron?" Rhian was concerned, and asked. "What happened to him?" She looked between him and Thranduil. "Are you hurt?"

"Peace, Rhian," Thranduil said, gently. "My Guard will be fine, he just needs some rest."

"I don't understand…" The young girl was getting upset.

"Truly, you have no need to worry. Daeron will explain later." Thranduil assured her once more. "I believe my Guard is more concerned with how you and your son are."

"We're both good, thanks to you." she said, shyly. She looked at the Elvenking, "And thanks to you and King Bard, too."

"It was our pleasure, Rhian," Thranduil said, nodded his head slightly. "Though I must bring up a matter of some urgency, if you do not mind."

"What's wrong, My Lord?" the young girl asked.

"Many in the Palace have ask what the child's name will be," The Elvenking grinned, "and I have been assigned the task of satisfying their curiosity. I must confess I am rather curious myself. Have you decided on a name for him?"

Rhian looked back and forth at the both of them, then answered, "Well, I was thinking… I mean... if it's all right, I do have a name in mind," she began, then she looked at Daeron anxiously. "If you don't like it, then I'll find something else. I don't want to make you mad."

"What do you want to name him, Rhian?" Daeron was confused, and curious.

Biting her lip, she said, tentatively, "I want to name him Darryn. It's like your name, and I think it would be nice, since you saved me, and you're my friend. I mean, you helped him be born, and you helped me, too, when I came to Dale, and I think it would be nice, and it isn't exactly like your name, but I still want to…"

Thranduil took in the Elf's stunned face, and assured the young girl, "Rhian, I think it is an excellent name, and, although he is speechless at the moment, I believe Daeron is agreeable."

He went to the other side of the bed, and asked the girl, "Might I hold him for one moment?"

Rhian nodded and handed him up to Thranduil, while the Elven Guard still sat there, stunned.

Darryn and the Elvenking regarded each other for a moment as grey eyes look into darker blue ones. The baby stretched his arms out and waved his fists around for a moment, then blinked Thranduil.

Holding up his free hand over the child, the Elvenking announced, "I, Thranduil, son of Oropher, King of the Woodland Realm, declare your name to be Darryn, son of Rhian of Dale. I hereby bestow upon you, citizenship of the Woodland Realm, as well as Dale. You, as with your mother, shall be entitled to and accorded all the protections and benefits, my Kingdom has to offer. You and your mother will be granted assistance, and safe passage anywhere in my Realm, for as long as you both shall live."

Little Darryn showed his appreciation for this great honor by burping loudly, smacking his lips, and falling asleep, again. The Elvenking laughed, then handed the child back to Rhian, who was wide-eyed; not really understanding what had just happened.

Thranduil smiled down at her and explained. "All newborn children born in my Realm are brought to me, so I that I might formally declare his or her name. This young man is of Dale, yes, but he was born here, so I have granted him dual citizenship. I will issue you both certificates and markers to wear that will allow you to legally pass into my Kingdom, to come and go as you please, and, should you or your son need help or protection throughout your lives, I, or any of my people, will aid you."

The Elvenking smirked, "This also prevents Daeron from refusing the name, out of modesty. It is a fine name, and an admirable choice, Rhian."

"Thank you, My Lord." The young mother said shyly, then looked over at the wide-eyed Elf, sitting in the chair to her right.

Daeron leaned closer to the bed, and peered down at the blanketed bundle.

"Would you like to hold him?" She handed the baby to the Elf.

Daeron took Darryn in his arms, and his face became radiant. "He is so beautiful..."

Rhian was only smiling a little, but she looked more at ease. "Isn't he amazing?"

Thranduil enjoyed the scene for a moment, before he excused himself and left the room.

His next stop was to see Mithrandir and Bilbo, who were sitting in his guest suite by the fire, smoking their pipes. "Are you enjoying your stay?" he asked them.

"Yes. I must admit, the accommodations are much nicer here, than the dungeons." Bilbo grinned. "Food's better, too. I've been spending time with your minstrels and storytellers, writing down as much as I can. They're very good, for Wood Elves."

Thranduil's eyebrows raised, "Oh, really? 'For Wood Elves?'"

"Well, maybe I shouldn't put it like that. Sorry, if I insulted you. But, even you must admit, the songs and poems of Rivendell rival none." Bilbo looked sheepish.

"Peace, Master Baggins. It is to Elrond's credit that he celebrates and encourages the arts. We, however, find joy in the flora and fauna of our forest, and the stars. Sadly, we also spend much time fighting the Darkness, in our home. Perhaps, one day, should the Woodland Realm be restored, our songs and such will rival even those of the House of Elrond."

Bilbo responded, with all sincerity. "I doubt I will live long enough to see that day, Lord Thranduil, but I shall wish for it, nonetheless. Your Elves are of the finest character, and I am honored to have the chance to know them, under better circumstances. You must be very proud."

"I am, and I thank you, Master Hobbit." He nodded his head at the Halfling. "Mithrandir, might I speak with you a moment?"

"Of course, will you excuse us please, Bilbo?" the Wizard asked his companion.

"Certainly. I was headed to the kitchens to see about Elevenses, anyway. I'm feeling a bit peckish." Bilbo stepped out.

Once alone, Thranduil told the Wizard about the phenomenon during Rhian's healing, yesterday, and Bard's ability to "see" and assist as well.

"That's astounding Thranduil!" the Wizard exclaimed. "Do you think he borrowed this power from you?"

"No, I do not. I would have felt it drain from me, if he had. I was hoping you might tell me, if you could." He explained about the displaced rib, and how hard it was to keep the bones in place. "If he had not helped me, the injury would have been made worse, and the girl would have died. He also tells me his sight and hearing have vastly improved."

Mithrandir sat back with his pipe, thoughtful. "Did he suffer any ill effects after helping the girl?"

"He was fatigued like myself, but my Healer has been watching him closely, because he is a Man, and wants to know how this affects his body. She has been satisfied that there is no damage."

"Good. Tell them to keep checking Bard. I have no doubt he's fine, because the Valar and Eru wished it so, but it never hurts to be sure. As to what else he might gain from your union, it's anyone's guess. You'll both have to wait and see. I don't think there's much more, though. If you suspect he might be given some great and powerful gift, Thranduil, I highly doubt it."

"I do not think so, either. In fact, I hope not. Those gifts tend to be more of a burden than a blessing, do you not agree? At this time, my husband has enough on his shoulders, as he learns how to be a King of Dale."

This made the Wizard laugh with commiseration, "Poor Bard! I don't envy him, but he'll make a fine King." Then Gandalf suggested, "I would urge him to practice caution, if he does have new powers. Among Men, that can be misconstrued. For now, only a select group of people should know, until we understand things more fully. There is something else we need to consider: If Bard's sight and hearing have increased, he may also gain quickness, strength, and agility. He will need to relearn his skills with a bow, a sword, until he knows exactly how to handle himself. Until then, he is a liability in an attack."

Thranduil nodded in agreement. "You are wise to think of it. I will speak of this to Bard, and issue orders to Feren to work with Bard closely and discreetly. I can ask Tauriel to help him, too. She is taking Daeron's place this winter as his Chief Guard in Dale."

"Good idea." Mithrandir eyed the Elvenking quizzically. "How is Tauriel?"

"She is saddened and grieving. Whatever happened between her and Prince Kili, it could not have been much." The Elvenking sighed, with frustration. "She is so young, Mithrandir, and it seems cruel to me, that she can never know lasting love, or to have children. I can only pray the Valar will show kindness to her and all the loved ones who perished. I have compassion for them, but Tauriel is my daughter, and I feel her loss keenly."

"And, as her father, you want to help her."

"I want to help all those who are in mourning in the Kingdom. Elrond's father helped them a great deal with his gesture during the services. But, to answer your question, yes; I do want to help Tauriel. She and I have grown much closer, since the Battle, and since I am doing better with… things. I cannot make up for what we lost, but I wish to be a real and loving father to her now."

Gandalf smiled at him. "I'm happy for you both. That could not have been easy to admit. You've shown great courage, recently, and I'm proud of you."

Thranduil looked sincerely at the Wizard, "It was you who reminded me where my heart's true treasure rests, although I hated you at the time for it. I know you did it out of friendship, and I am in your debt."

Gandalf cleared his throat, and toyed with his pipe. "You are most welcome, but if you had not already known this, deep in your heart, my words would mean nothing." Then he changed the subject, "Tell me how your people have been, since the Battle."

"According to reports, Eärendil did much to ease the grief of my people, by shining the Silmaril on us. Not nearly as many are in danger of fading, or leaving as I feared. That truly was a blessing from the Valar, but…" Thranduil struggled with his words for a moment, "could it mean… more? My foresight tells me it may be so, but I do not yet know the details."

Gandalf thought for a moment. "I'll look into the matter, and if I discover anything, I'll be sure to share it with you."

"Thank you. I wish to send some letters to Elrond, if I could, to thank him for the courtesy he asked his father to bestow, and to ask if he has been given any insight. I also want to send a formal announcement of my marriage to both him and Legolas. My son should not learn of such a thing through rumor."

"That's a good idea." Gandalf agreed, before drawing on his pipe again as the two sat in companionable silence.

"Mithrandir?" Thranduil asked the Wizard, pensively, "Do you think Mírelen is happy in Valinor, now?"

"I believe so. It was a wonderful gift she gave you."

"Yes, it was. She gave up our bond, so I could find happiness, but…"

"And, are you happy with Bard?" Gandalf asked him.

"More than I ever thought possible. But now Mírelen is alone, and this seems unkind." Thranduil pointed out.

"What makes you believe she'd be alone?"

Thranduil blinked in surprise. "You mean…"

"My friend, I don't know. What we do know is that your bond has been severed, so you could love again. Isn't it only fitting that she, too, find the same happiness? It's possible that asking Manwë to allow this grace, benefitted the both of you. She knew you were suffering greatly, and she may have also needed someone. Perhaps she met him while in Mandos' Halls."

For a few moments, Thranduil felt the knee-jerk reaction of jealousy.

It must have shown on his face, because the Wizard asked him, "Thranduil, you and Bard plan to sail to Valinor, one day. Have you thought about meeting her there with your husband, and what that might be like?"

"No, I confess I have not."

"The reason I ask you, is this: If you were there, right this minute, and were forced to choose between Mírelen and Bard, which would you choose?"

It didn't take the Elvenking long to decide. His feelings for Mírelen were strong, but, now that he could face his feelings, he realized how much they had changed. Had she not died, he would have loved her just as fervently, just as passionately as he had when he married her, and have no regrets. But she had been killed, and though his love for her lived on, it became something… different; love born of memory and comfort. It was something to always cherish be grateful for.

His heart belonged to Bard, now, and that would not change.

"I would want Bard. I love him very much, and I want no other." He answered firmly.

"And if she meets you on the shores with another husband?" The Wizard prodded.

Thranduil sat back on his chair, bringing his steepled fingers to his mouth, considering carefully.

"I am glad we spoke of this, Mithrandir. I think I would be happy for her, just as I know she wishes me happiness. I will be frank, and tell you I would have to get used to it, but, yes, I think she deserves the same happiness she has given me. I will always have love for her, but I am no longer in love with her, and I hope she can move on and find what I have found for herself."

"Good." Gandalf smiled at him. "Thranduil I have not seen joy in your eyes for almost a thousand years. I can't tell you how pleased I am to see you happy. Of course, I plan to stop in every now and again, to see how you two and those children fare."

"You will always be welcome as an honored guest in my home, Mithrandir. You have brought happiness to me again, and I am forever in your debt." After a pause he added "I do not believe I have apologized for my rudeness to you, before the Battle. Forgive me."

"I thank you. You suffered a great deal for longer than you deserved, Thranduil; I'm just glad to see you happy again. You have a bright future ahead for yourself and Bard; that's all the matters, now."

Thranduil nodded, then got up out of his chair, bowed to the Wizard, and turned to leave.

He almost reached the door, when he turned, a bit uncertain. "If… you see Legolas, when you stop at Rivendell, would you write me and tell me how he is? Please?" He swallowed, as his throat tightened.

"Of course, my friend; I will be happy to. If I do see him, is there anything you wish me to tell him?"

Thranduil swallowed. "I hope he is finding some peace, whatever he is doing. I do not know where his path will lead him, but… I do not know what to say, because I do not wish to push him. If I said to tell him how much I love him, he would not believe it, I think. I have made so many mistakes, Mithrandir, with many things…" His voice broke. "I cannot begin to know how to make this up to him. Or even if I can…" he looked to the floor.

Gandalf gave him a sympathetic look, and went to him, putting his hand on Thranduil's shoulder. "I understand, Mellon nîn. If I see him, if it feels right to say anything, I will tell him you are thinking of him, and wish him well. Let's leave it at that for a bit."

Swallowing he said, hoarsely, "Thank you, Mithrandir." He saluted, and left.


	37. Chapter 37

**Chapter Thirty-Seven**

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SUMMARY: Our two Kings do their best to be brave, as Bard prepares to leave, for the Winter months. The children do their best to be brave, too, but they've never been apart from their Da, and take it hard, especially poor little Tilda.

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 **The Woodland Realm, 1st of January, 2942 T.A.**

Thranduil made his way to the Visitor's Wing, and saw Bard, Hilda, and Bronwyn in conversation. "Good morning, My Lord," Hilda and Bronwyn curtsied. "We're discussing the school we're setting up." Bard looked pleased.

"And what are your ideas?" Thranduil asked them.

"Most of them will go into the Dining Hall, and the littlest ones will be in a separate room, near the necessary. They're noisier, and can't sit for long. Bronwyn has set up groups, according to age and ability, and we are gathering the materials together." Hilda told him.

"Are you pleased with this?" He asked the women.

"For the most part. Galion and I are setting up another room where the adults can learn, too. We're just now deciding who to teach them."

Thranduil was pleased. "When do you wish to start?"

"As soon as possible, to get everyone into a routine. The plan is to start in three days. Everyone is still getting the hang of the place, and we need to learn more about where things are, so we don't get lost."

"Have there been any complaints?" Bard asked her.

"Only a few, and those are from the people who love to complain, anyway. No serious problems." Hilda turned to Bronwyn. "What's going on with the Orphans?"

"Oh, they're excited to be here. The ruins of Dale were depressing, no matter how much we tried to clean them up, so they'll be happier in such a lovely place."

"Speaking of Orphans, what's going on with Alis and Dafina?"

The two women looked at each other and smiled, before turning to the King of Dale. "It looks real good so far, Bard."

The Kings thanked the ladies, and they gathered their children for lunch, which was lively. The children were full of chatter at all they had seen so far, and their plans for the winter. Thranduil could see Bard was making an effort to put up a good, cheerful front, and he admired him for it.

Thranduil and Bard spent the afternoon with the children, showing them around the Palace. He showed them the indoor arena, where horses are exercised, and his Army trains over the winter. Time will be set aside there, for the children to play – locks were installed on the cabinets containing practice weapons. Then everyone got their coats on and went to the barns, so they could see the animals.

Tilda squealed in delight at the young bull Elk, who came up to Thranduil, looking for a treat. Before Bard could object, he gave Bain and Tilda each an apple to give to him, which the beast accepted delicately, much to her delight.

He took them to the Throne Room, and the children looked up at that high seat, with all those carvings and ancient antlers. He told them the brief history, leaving out the grisly parts, and told them, for the most part, business was taken care of in the adjoining Council Room, which he showed them next.

After asking them all take a seat at the table, he spoke to them:

"These are impressive rooms, are they not? They should be, because the decisions made here affect all my people, so they are made very carefully. It may seem, to others, that being King only means having nice things and privilege, but what many do not understand is the tremendous and heavy weight of responsibility.

"I must ask you, children, to never come into these rooms, unless you are summoned, or it is an emergency. Even then, you must tell the guards what the problem is, and wait for them to let you in. You must never barge in. The decisions and judgments rendered here, require a great deal of reverence and respect. Also, it is important that, while you are in these rooms, you must use formal titles and act with all courtesy. Do you all understand?"

When the children agreed and promised to do this, he smiled. "I know you will do your best."

Then the Elvenking continued with the etiquette lesson on courtly manners: "You are members of two Royal Houses, now, and outside of the Royal Wing of either Palace, you must never disagree with your Kings, or even with each other. When you are with us, and you have a problem, ask to see us in private, and I promise, we will listen to you, and consider your opinions carefully. This is mostly for your benefit, and will save you a great deal of trouble."

"How?" Bain wanted to know.

"I am sad to tell you, many to will seek an opinion from you, or want to take you aside and talk to you about decisions rendered by us. These people will want to turn you into a pawn, to accomplish their own goals. Never allow yourself to be manipulated into something like this."

"What should we say, then?" Sigrid asked.

"That is a good question, and the answer is very simple. Politely tell them, 'You must speak to the King,' and walk away. If it persists, then you come and tell us right away, and we will take care of it. Again, please remember, outside of our private chambers, we are your Kings first, and we must present a united front."

He looked at each of the children to make sure they understood, and all three said they did.

He smiled at them, "Excellent! Shall we adjourn this 'Council meeting' and finish the tour?" At their enthusiastic nods, they got up and left the chamber.

They saw both libraries, and Thranduil showed them some of the books written in Tengwar script. "It's beautiful!" Sigrid said, turning some pages. "Tilda, look at the pictures in this one!"

"I like the animal one. The pictures are pretty," Tilda observed. It was a children's book, so Thranduil checked to see if he had a copy in Westron, which he did.

"Here you are, Tithen Pen." He handed her the book. "You may take this to your rooms, and I know you will take care of it, will you not?" He asked her, and she gave a gap-toothed grin and nodded her head, as he recorded the loan of the book with the librarian.

The rest of the afternoon was spent in the King's chambers. Sigrid had gone to see Rhian and the baby for a bit, but was soon back, because she wanted as much time with her Da as possible. They snuggled on the couches, laughing and joking, and the children took turns playing Draughts on the low table in front of them. Tilda was getting pretty good at the game, especially with her Da's help.

Dinner was a golden crusted meat pie, with vegetables, rolls and butter, and his favorite berry tarts. Galion made sure to include a few cherry ones for Sigrid, who couldn't eat strawberries.

The children were learning to love Galion as an Uncle, just as Legolas and Tauriel had, Thranduil observed. From across the table, as Galion was chatting with the children, he could see Bard had noticed, too, and heartily approved.

The evening was spent much like the afternoon, just being together, and being a family, which was the best way to enjoy their time with Bard. Bard sat Tilda in his lap, and read her the animal storybook from Thranduil's library, Sigrid was finishing up her Da's sock, so he could wear the new pair tomorrow. Bain was lying in his stomach, propping his head up on his elbows, watching the fire.

Thranduil had never known what a joy family leisure time could be. Just relaxing and being together for the sake of it, was an unexpected delight.

He reached over and stroked Bard's hair, then squeezed his hand. His Bowman was such a gift. They all were, from Mírelen, herself. He thought of her, and his conversation with the Wizard, this morning. _Ant gîn vîr vin faer nîn,_ he silently thanked his wife, hoping she could hear him. _Ci fael, Meleth nîn._

Once the children were bathed, bedded and kissed, Bard took him by the hand, and led him into their bedroom. "I have something for you, to help you think of me."

"I do not need such things, Bard." He said to his Bowman, as he rubbed their noses together.

"Oh, well, if you feel that way, then I won't –" Bard turned to walk away.

"…however, if you insist, how can I turn away your generosity?"

"Oh, but I didn't insist… Maybe I shouldn't."

"Bard, what is it?" Thranduil growled, nibbling on his ear.

His Bowman took him into the walk-in closet, and slipped Thranduil's robes off his shoulders, leaving his chest bare. He sat him down on the cushioned chair, in front of the big mirror, and gathered his hair away from his face, and down one bare shoulder.

"Close your eyes." Bard whispered to him.

Thranduil did as he was asked. He heard a shuffle, then he felt something smooth and cool touch his skin, and around his neck, then Bard lift his hair and rearrange it.

"Open your eyes, love." Bard whispered, and kissed his ear.

He did, and gasped. Against his smooth, pale skin, was the beautiful emerald necklace that Bard was given by the Dwarves, when they were at Erebor. He had only given it a cursory glance at the time, but now he saw the intricate design of emeralds against the gold filigree, with small diamonds interspersed between them.

"Oh, Bard," he whispered, bringing his hand to up to touch it, "It is breathtaking!"

"You like it, then?" Bard smiled, from his reflection in the mirror. "I knew I wanted to give it to you, the minute I laid eyes on it. It looks even better than I imagined."

Thranduil was visibly moved at the beauty of the gift, and the heart of the man who wanted him to have it. "I couldn't love anything more."

Morning came, and with it, came Bard's departure. They stood in their bedroom, foreheads together for a long time, not saying anything, trying to memorize the feel of each other. They had made slow, tender love earlier, saying everything they could think of to say, between loving soft kisses.

Now, they were determined to be brave, for themselves for each other, and for the children.

Finally, Bard broke the spell. "Come on, love," he whispered. "Everything's ready, and it's time."

The family soberly made its way through the Palace, and to the Main Doors, and got ready to say goodbye. Thranduil stood by silently as he hugged the children, trying his best to keep an encouraging smile on his face, pretending his heart wasn't breaking.

Sigrid did her best to be stoic, but her eyes shone, and she blinked rapidly. "Don't worry, Da. We'll write you every day, so when the supply wagon comes, you'll have piles of things to read, and I'll keep sending you socks to keep your feet warm."

"That's my girl," Bard whispered into her hair.

"I love you, Da." She whispered, eyes scrunched shut.

"I love you, too, and I'm so proud of you." Bard squeezed her tighter. Then Sigrid nodded and stepped back, wiping her eyes quickly.

Bain stepped up for his hug. "Bye, Da. See you soon. We'll be back before you know it!"

"You'll do your lessons, and look after your sisters?"

"I promise. And I'll look after our people, too." Bain caught Thranduil's eye, as he said this. "I'm your representative, so it's my job."

Bard tousled his hair, "Do me proud." Bard kissed Bains brow and held him tight. "I love you, son."

"Love you."

Tilda was crying, as she jumped into her Da's arms. "I don't want you to go, Da!" she sobbed into his neck. "Don't go, please! I'll miss you too much!" and she sobbed into Bard's neck. Thranduil saw how stricken Bard looked, and heard his voice become hoarse, as he tried to comfort their baby.

"I know, Little Bean, I know. But Thrandool will be here, and Auntie Hil and Galion can give you hugs anytime you want." Bard was rubbing her back, soothing her. "You've got Charlotte, and Daisy, and maybe Sigrid can take you sometimes to see the new baby. I want you to write me, so I can see how hard you're working on your letters, and draw me lots of pictures, all right? And don't forget, next time I see you, I want to see two new teeth so you can say your 'esses' again. Can you do that for me?"

"Da! I can't make myself grow teeth!" Tilda hiccupped, tears still staining her face.

Bard smiled and kissed her again, then Thranduil took her from Bard, so he could say goodbye to Hilda, who wrapped her arms around him. "Now, I'm not going to cry. You just take care of yourself, and keep my Percy out of trouble. Here," she handed him several letters. "Give these to him, when you get there, all right?"

"Sure will, love." He wiped her eyes. "I thought you said you weren't going to cry." He smiled at her

"Oh, be quiet." She sniffed.

"Now look, Hil, I'm counting on you to look after everyone. Especially this bunch." He gestured to his family, with his thumb. "You keep 'em all in line and on the straight and narrow, yeah? And don't let Thranduil and Galion spoil the kids too badly." Hilda nodded and smiled, blowing her nose.

Lastly, Bard turned to him. "Gi melin, Thranduil." He kissed his hand.

Still holding Tilda, Thranduil kissed Bard chastely, and hugged him with one arm, whispering, "I will keep your children and your people safe. We will guard them with our very lives. Ci velethril nîn, Bard. Uireb."

Squaring his shoulders, and taking a long last look at them, Bard wiped his eyes, then went through the big Main Doors, where his white stallion was saddled and waiting. With a shout and a wave, he rode off with his Elven escort, while Tilda sobbed hard into the crook of Thranduil's neck.

Hilda smoothed her hair, and wiped the tears off her little face. "There you go, Beanie. It'll be all right." She kissed Tilda's forehead, as the little girl hugged Thranduil "Will she be all right?" she whispered to the Elvenking.

He smiled and nodded. "Please do not worry. If she does not settle down after a while, I will send for you, I promise." Then Hilda buried her face in her handkerchief, after she kissed the kids and went back to work.

As the King and his family walked through the Palace, everyone looked on with sympathy, as they saw their sad faces and listened to the little one's howls of misery.

The Elvenking spent the rest of the day with the children, either in their apartment or in his chambers. Galion and Hilda came and sat with them in the evening, while Tilda sat in Thranduil's lap, clinging to him for dear life, as she had been the entire day. The older children did their best to put on a brave face, but they had to wipe their eyes occasionally, as they played Draughts or listened to Galion read to them.

Soon it was time for baths and bed, and he sat with each one of them for a while, as he tucked them in, making sure they were comfortable. Bain had his book, so Thranduil made a mental note to turn down his lamp later.

Poor Tilda was still upset, so he sang to her softly, until her eyes closed, and her breathing became deep and regular, then left her door open a crack, when he returned to the common area, where Sigrid was knitting.

"Thanks, Ada. Hopefully, she'll sleep."

"That is my hope, too, but I doubt it; at least for the first few nights. If she wakes, please either bring her in to me, or come get me. I want to make sure you get your rest, too, Iellig."

He bent down to kiss her hair, and turned toward his room, to try and face the first night away from his Bard.

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 **ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:**

 _Authon nîth_ – "Young Warrior." Thranduil uses it as a term of endearment for Bain, because he wants to be a soldier.

 _Hervenn nîn_ – My husband.

 _Iellig_ – My daughter.

 _Ant gîn vîr vin faer nîn_ – I shall treasure your gift in my heart.

 _Ci fael, Meleth nîn_ – Thank you/Your gift was generous, my love.

 _Hervenn_ – husband

 _Gi melin, Thranduil_ – I love you, Thranduil

 _Ci velethril nîn, Bard_. – You have my love, Bard.

 _Suilad Hervenn nîn_ – Greetings, My Husband.


	38. Chapter 38

**Chapter Thirty-Eight**

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SUMMARY: ****This is the end of the first part of the "Two Thrones" series! The next work, called "And Winter Came..." is next, which chronicles their lives, adventures and mishaps in Dale and the Woodland Realm, and they endure the long winter months apart.****

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 **City of Dale, 2** **nd** **of January 2942 T.A.**

Oh, thank the Stars and all the Valar, Dale was finally in sight!

It had been a long, lonely journey, but the escort kept him company. It had been hard to hold back the tears when he said goodbye, and for a long while afterward, they ran down his face.

During the journey, he thought about all the changes in his life since the day he found those Dwarves on the Forest River. It was heartbreaking, exciting, fascinating, and wonderful. In so many ways he felt like his life was only beginning, and he couldn't wait to get started with his new family, and his new Kingdom.

"King Bard, welcome home!" Percy greeted him on the steps to the Great Hall, with a formal bow, as the doors opened. "How was the trip?"

Walking inside, Bard thanked his escort, then turned back to his friend.

"It was long and cold, Percy. But we made it. How are things here?" Bard went over to the fire pit and held his hands over it, warming himself, before someone brought Bard a hot cup of tea. "Oh, aye! That's what I need."

"Feren and the supplies came yesterday, right on schedule. He's out checking the sentries, along the City Wall. He'll be back soon. I heard all about that little girl almost having her babinod on the Palace steps. How is she?"

Bard laughed, as his hands were warmed by the cup. "Damned near, Pers, but Rhian had a boy, and all's well that ends well."

Percy stood and grinned at him, shaking his head, causing Bard to be suspicious. "What's going on?"

"Your Elf sent some surprises along with the wagons. Seems he didn't want us to be lonely."

His Steward was looking a little too amused. "You're making me nervous; what surprises?"

Percy started to snigger. "When the wagons got unloaded, Feren brought these baskets into the Hall. Old Ben went over and opened one of 'em, and nearly had a heart attack!" He started laughing harder. "This huge orange cat jumped out at him, spittin' and hissin' and hoppin' mad! Seems ridin' for hours in those wagons didn't agree with him." Percy held his stomach. "I didn't know the old man's voice could go that high! It was like the damned thing had hold of his balls! Stars, Bard, you should've seen his face!" He howled. "He just 'bout shit his breeches!" Percy could barely get the words out. "Feren nearly busted a gut, he laughed so hard!" The man was doubled over, and could hardly breathe, at this point. "It was the funniest damned thing I'd ever seen!"

By this time, Bard and half the folk in the Great Hall were roaring with laughter.

Then Bard asked, "Where are the cats now?" as Percy helplessly leaned against him, wiping his eyes.

"Off doin' their job. And when they're not doin' that, they're keepin' us company. In fact, once Old Ben put his heart back in his chest, he named that big orange one Floyd. There's another one, a female that took a real shine to Tauriel."

Bard shook his head. "I never thought about mice. It's a brilliant idea! Thranduil never said a word about it."

"Well, he wouldn't now, would he?" Percy gave him a meaningful smirk, and raised his eyebrow.

"Percy... ?" Bard began to feel unsettled.

"What?" He tried his best to look innocent. "I didn't do it!"

"Do what?"

"Seems your Elf didn't want you to be lonesome, either."

"What are you talking about?" Bard asked anxiously, as Percy had to lean against him, laughing all over again.

"Look in your chambers and see." Percy grabbed his arm, and started dragging him there.

Looking at him warily, they walked through the Hall, waving hello to everyone as he went, past the kitchens, toward his rooms in the Castle.

When he reached the entrance to the corridor, Bard stopped. The stillness and silence slammed into him, like a wall. A wave of loneliness washed over him; no chatter from children, or the velvety smooth baritone of his husband's voice...

The winter was going to be horrible.

He felt Percy's hand on his shoulder in empathy. "Know how you feel." the older man said. "One foot in front of the other, Aye?"

Bard looked at him, and nodded.

As they walked down the hall, he looked into the children's rooms, which were cold and empty, with bare mattresses and all personal touches removed. He sighed, closed each door, to keep from seeing it and went to his bedchamber. And, all the while, Percy was beside him, trying to keep a straight face.

When he opened the door, on the left side of the room, there was the big bed from Thranduil's tent, neatly made. He looked over to the right, and there were the cushioned chairs by the fireplace, and a warm, crackling fire waiting for him and…

"Percy..." Bard stammered, eyes bugging out. "I don't…" Then he pointed, and squeaked at the top of his lungs, "WHAT THE FIDDLER'S FUCK IS THAT THING?"

Lying there on the hearth rug, was the biggest dog Bard had ever seen.

Percy was no help. He was doubled over once again, laughing so hard he couldn't breathe, while Bard just stood there like an idiot, trying to figure out if it was a dog or a donkey. Finally, the Steward recovered enough to stand up straight, although he was still clutching his stomach.

"You... you shouldda seen your face! Hahahahaha!"

"Wh… How did it even get here?" Bard demanded, grabbing the top of his head, as if it would blow off, from the shock.

Percy shook his head. "Feren was grinning from ear to ear when he brought this boy in. He's big, isn't he?"

"Big? BIG?! He's… massive! What am I supposed to do with him?"

Percy shrugged. "Let him be a dog, I reckon. He's real friendly, despite his looks."

"But… Where's his master?" Bard still couldn't stop staring at the dog, shaking his head.

"Standing right next to me." Percy grinned. "Here." A sealed letter was placed in his hand. "Feren said to give this to you. It'll explain everything."

Bard stared down at the red wax, bearing the seal of the Elvenking.

"Well... I'll just leave you 'lovebirds' to get acquainted..." Percy giggled, as he went to the door and gave a wave. "Happy honeymoon!"

"Pers! You bastard! You can't just leave me here with…" Too late. The door was closed, and his friend's guffaws could be heard all the way down the corridor.

Bard looked at the door, his mouth opening and closing several times.

 _Ulmo's balls…_

Shaking his head in disbelief, Bard turned and went over to the fireplace, not quite knowing what to do next. He sat down, in one of the cushioned chairs, looking at the fawn-colored beast, who lifted his great head and studied him thoughtfully, through enormous dark eyes. They assessed each other, for several minutes, neither one making a sound, until the dog got bored with him, and with a deep sigh, plopped his black face down between his paws again.

He sat there stupidly and stared at the beast, until he heard the collective roar of laughter from all the men in the Great Hall.

Oh, that's just perfect... Everyone must have been waiting to hear what happened. Some undoubtedly had placed bets. Bard hoped he was at least as entertaining as Old Ben, when he met the cat.

He shook himself out of his reverie, broke the seal on the letter, and began to read:

 _Suilad, Hervenn nîn:_

 _I asked Feren to present you with this here in our room, so I can picture you there, most likely feeling our absence keenly. I am sorry about the silence, Meleth nîn, but let us both pray to the Valar the winter passes quickly._

 _I wish to introduce you to Thangon. He belonged to one of my officers, who was killed in the Battle of the Five Armies. His name is a variation of Thangail, which means "Great Shield" in Sindarin. He has accompanied his master on duty in the forest, and has lived up to his name many times. Like you, he is feeling lonely and bereft. I thought you two might help each other._

 _Bard, I know I set out to make you a King, but you have made me a much better one. More important, your love makes me a better Elf. I know you think I have saved you and your people, but it was no more than you have done for me, Meleth nîn._

 _You have helped me come back to myself, and to find joy and new life in each day. Hervenn nîn, thank you for giving me your heart, and bringing Sigrid, Bain and Tilda into my life._

 _Please take care of Tauriel. She may not appear to need a comforting hand, or a shoulder to lean on, but I know you will lend her yours regardless. I sent her a companion, as well, and I hope she finds comfort in her._

 _Just as I know you will watch over my daughter as your very own, so shall I look after your children. They will want for nothing, except to see you again, I promise you._

 _I cannot know how much of you I will sense, as we do when we are together, but I will keep you in my heart and in my thoughts day and night._

 _I love you, Bard. Always._

 _Thranduil_

Bard put the letter in his lap, and stared into the fire for a long time, missing his children, his husband, and Hilda. After a few minutes, he heard shuffling, then Thangon rested his head on Bard's knee, looking at him, with soulful eyes. He lifted his hand and scratched the huge beast behind one ear.

"Looks like we're both missing loved ones, my friend." Bard told the dog. Thangon looked at him, the brows on his wrinkled face moving, as he listened intently. "Are you hungry? Come on, then, let's get something to eat, aye?"

He got up, slapped his thigh, and walked out in the hallway, with Thangon following behind. Tauriel was coming out of her room, as he passed, and he stopped to give her a hug.

"How are you?"

"I am well, though I miss Ada and the children. How was your journey?"

"Percy told me about the cats. One of them seems to like you, then?"

Tauriel's eyes danced. "Ada was kind to send her. We have been having problems with mice, and the cooks were very unhappy. The cats are male and female, and will produce kittens, in time. That will please Tilda." Tauriel looked down at Thangon, and patted his head, as the dog wagged his rear end at her.

She giggled. "I see you have received your gift."

"Uh... He was… quite the surprise." Bard chuckled, and pointed toward the Great Hall with his thumb. "I'm never going to hear the end of it, out there. I'm sure Percy told everybody how we two met, word for word." He looked down at the dog. "He seems nice enough. Just... big. Does he understand Westron? I don't speak Sindarin; how do I control this beast, if he doesn't understand me?"

"Commander Feren can tell you more. We have many like him in the Woodland Realm, but I do not know this one. What is his name?"

"Thranduil's letter said his name is Thangon. Something about a shield."

"A good name. Let me try something." She bent down, petting him, and spoke to him in Elvish. Bard had heard it before, mostly during Healing spells. He seemed to respond to her, as he sat, lay down, and barked, on her commands. Bard tried in Westron, but the dog just stared at him and panted, with his tongue sticking out.

"Hmmm… Suppose you teach me the commands in Sindarin, and it should be all right."

"The commands I spoke are in Quenya. We normally train our animals in this language."

"Whatever works. Come on, Thangon, let's get something to eat, shall we?"

Tauriel said to the dog, "Tulë!" And the dog got up and obediently followed them into the Great Hall, where the long tables were ready for the midday meal. After Bard endured much teasing by the other men, he dug into his stew with relish, and ate three rolls, tossing the fourth, to Thangon, who caught it expertly in his mouth, while lying by the fire pit.

"Did you even bother to chew it?" he inquired of the dog. His answer was a couple of thumps of tail on the stone floor.

Feren came in from the cold, and, after getting his lunch, took a seat next to Bard. "I am glad to see you, My Lord. The escort tells me your journey was free from incident."

"Yes, it was, thank you. As you can see, I've been introduced to your passenger from the supply wagon." Bard looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "He was the last thing I expected when I got to my room."

Feren laughed boisterously, "I am sure that is true. Were you as surprised as Old Ben?"

"Oh, you'll have to ask Percy who was more entertaining. I'm positive the men were taking bets."

The Commander continued to snicker, then asked. "Do you like him?"

"We're growing on each other. How much does he eat?"

"Quite a lot. But do not worry, if you give him as much as you eat, he should be fine. I caution you strongly, however, against giving him Lembas. It gives him gas."

"Thanks for the warning. Now, what is Lembas, exactly, so I know not to give it to him?"

"It is Waybread made by the Elves. One bite can satisfy as much as an entire meal. We brought a great deal of it from the Woodland Realm, for the winter. While we are on duty, that is what we eat. It is convenient to take with us when we are on patrol in the forest, or hunting as well. There is some stored here, in case the supply wagons do not come through."

"How exactly did you learn about the dog's..."

"I am glad to say, I was not there." Feren grinned. "However, Thangon's… 'dilemma' was legendary by the time Galan and his unit returned to the barracks."

"I'm sorry to hear about your friend." Bard told him.

"Thank you, My Lord. Galan was a good friend. He stood with me at my wedding, and held my handfasting cord." Feren looked down into his food for a minute, then sighed, looking up. "Most of his unit was killed, and when we returned from Dale that first time, Thangon was searching for Galan and his friends. The ones who survived weren't able to take him, and I could not, as we are hoping to get the girls and their grandfather. Gruffudd is missing a leg, and could trip and hurt himself."

"He seems to fit in here, right enough. I think you and Thranduil had the right idea. I could use someone to follow me around and keep me company. I don't know what to do with myself, and I just got back here!" Bard looked over at the big dog. "He looks sad and lonely. Same as I feel."

"He was much worse, My Lord, when we returned without his master. He was listless, and hardly ate. I hated to see it, because he is a valuable dog and a good companion. When Lord Thranduil approached me about bringing some cats to clear the Great Hall, I told him about Thangon, and he agreed you two need each other."

"Maybe we do, at that. By the way, Tauriel says he understands Quenya, not Sindarin?"

"He knows commands in Quenya, which I will teach you, but he is an Elven-bred dog, My Lord. He will get to know you, and sense a great deal about what you want and need. I recommend you still learn the commands, but he may surprise you."

The rest of the afternoon was spent in meetings with just about everyone in charge of something. Schedules, work rosters and supply lists were gone over. Lessons in reading, and writing were planned, both in Westron and in Sindarin. Percy found and cleared out a huge empty hall for a practice and training arena. Training rosters were gone over, then the schedules for visits to the Woodland Realm for the men to see their families, at least once this winter. The Healer gave his report, as well.

Everyone would have a job, and everyone would be kept busy.

Bard made sure to pull Feren aside, when they were done, to speak privately in his chambers. "I am sure you've been told about my increased abilities, since I married Thranduil. My problem is, I don't know how it will affect my archery or sword work."

Feren nodded his head. "Lord Thranduil also mention something. I recommend that we train privately, until you know to what extent your abilities have changed. It pains me to say this, My Lord, but until you learn to control this properly, you will not be fit to lead your people in battle."

Bard nodded his head, and sighed. "You're right. Best to get started then. How about tomorrow, or the next day?"

Feren nodded. "I will make sure to schedule you with either myself or Tauriel every day."

"Good."

Later that evening, he sat in the big bed, alone, reading, while Thangon lay in front of the fireplace, sadly. "What's the matter, boy?" He watched the animal's lonely face, and made up his mind. "Come on then," he patted Thranduil's side of the bed. "Just be sure to give it up when the King comes to visit." The dog came over, and with surprising grace, jumped on the bed, and settled his head in Bard's lap with a huge sigh. Bard smiled as he scratched his head, "I think you and I are going to be good friends."

The Winter for the Men of Dale had officially begun.

Thranduil made his way to his bedchamber, where he found a package on the bed, waiting for him.

He unwrapped the cloth to reveal a wooden box. With eyebrows furrowed in curiosity, he opened it, and found a thick, leather-bound book. He lifted it out, and leafed through the pages, but they were all blank, which puzzled him. A sealed letter fell out; the name on it was his, written in Bard's tall, narrow print. He settled himself on the bed, broke the seal, and began to read:

 _Hello Love,_

 _I hope you don't mind me conspiring with Galion to put this together, but I wanted to surprise you!_

 _Watching you in the evenings with the children, has been as much a gift to me as everything else you've brought into my life. You, me, my children and Tauriel are becoming a real family, and it feels magical. It IS magic, this happiness I feel, when we're all together._

 _It's even better when we're alone, isn't it? Our times together are so wonderful, and I thank the Valar every day I'm allowed to have this with you. It's a miracle to feel so happy and full inside, after years of being sad and alone._

 _Now, about this book: Remember, when I promised I would think of way to help with Legolas?_

 _Well, I hope you like my solution._

 _Please bear with me, while I explain, all right?_

 _You've been incredibly brave, Thranduil. You've worked hard to make peace with your memories of Mírelen. You can think about her now, and make your memories of her a part of your life again, to treasure, and carry with you for all your days. I know how hard it's been for you, and I'm happy for you._

 _I hope to meet her someday in Valinor, so I can thank her for what she did for you. I want to tell her how important she will always be to you, and just because your bond was severed, doesn't mean you forgot her. I want to tell her about the children, and my Mattie, because I think, had they met, they would've liked each other._

 _Now, take a deep breath, love; here's my idea:_

 _Thranduil, it's time to introduce Mírelen to her son._

 _If all Legolas can ever have of her, are stories and drawings, then give those to him! Tell him about her, Thranduil. Show him everything you can think of. Make her come alive on these pages, with your words, with your wonderful sketches, and your tears._

 _Give her to this boy who has longed for her and missed her as much as you have. Tell him everything!_

 _You, love, have the power to reunite them, and I know you'll find the courage to fill every single page._

 _It could be something for him to read, and keep with him always, Legolas will have no greater proof of how much you love him._

 _Now, the hard part is this: Give him this gift, without any expectations. Prove to him, that, no matter what happens between you two, you simply want him to know his mother, and to just be happy. I know you can do it._

 _Thank you, Thranduil, for helping me to be the Ruler my people need._

 _Thank you for teaching me what makes a King._

 _I love you, so much, Thranduil._

 _Bard_

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****End of Book I of the Two Thrones Series****

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 **See how our family fares over the long Winter in Book II: And Winter Came...**

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